


The Dog and the Liar

by ElvenOfRivendell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Death, F/M, Fluff, Sandor Clegane deserves love, Smut, Violence, mentions of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2020-09-24 03:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 65
Words: 153,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenOfRivendell/pseuds/ElvenOfRivendell
Summary: One night, Lenore Baelish sneaks into the Hound's chamber for a one night's fun. It would have been harmless, had they not been overheard by someone loyal to King Joffrey. What consequences will that bring?





	1. Introduction

_ The little girl ran through the woods and laughed, two years of age, she was. _   
_ Like a little bird she seemed to fly over the stones and sticks. Eventually her legs grew tired and she had to sit down. Her older sister ran up to her and sat down next to her. They looked at each other and smiled. _   
_ My lady. _

She didn’t hear, didn’t want to hear, she was dreaming, floating beyond their reach. No one could get to her now.  
“Lady Lenore!” her handmaiden called. “You must not let your mind wander too much. It keeps you from being on your watch.”  
“What do you know about that?” she snapped, “what do I have to watch out for today?”  
The dark blonde handmaiden looked nervous.   
“M-my lady, there are bad people here.”  
“I have lived in King’s landing for thirteen years, I know how to be on my watch.” The handmaiden said no more, but went to get the hairbrush.   
“How would you like your hair today, my lady?”   
“You choose, something simple,” Lenore mumbled while picking up a piece of bread with hard cheese on.  
With a grey gown embroidered with white flowers on, her black hair in simple southern braids, Lenore left her chambers. Her bright blue eyes scanned the halls, no one special was there, just some gold cloaks. They didn’t greet her when she walked past them, nor did she greet them. She kept walking down the stairs and out to the garden where she liked to sit and think. Petyr Baelish approached her.   
“Good morning, my lady.”   
“Petyr.”  
“May I sit?” he asked, and Lenore nodded.   
“How are you on this fine day, my little dragonfly?” he asked and leered at her.  
“ _ Don’t _ call me that, Littlefinger,” she snapped, and he smirked. Lenore stood up but Petyr grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to his face.   
“You can’t hide behind that hair forever…”  
“Let go of me,” she snarled, and he did, the smirk still playing his lips. Lenore stomped away from him and he laughed at her not so ladylike walk.  
She returned to her chambers with quick steps, speeding up even more when she saw Meryn Trant, a man who had raped her twice. Lenore had never laid with a man by her own will, but she wanted to. She wanted to feel what it was like to want it, and there was an ache between her legs reminding her of that every now and then. She sat down in front of her mirror and realized why Petyr had said what he did. Her usual black hair was fading to brown. The jar under her bed was calling her name. She picked it up and went to wash herself, the black fading from her hair and she smeared the dark mud-like liquid all over her head and hair. Washing it out, she looked in the mirror, raven haired again. She redid her braids and went back out.  
“Good evening, Lenore”, she heard a female voice say and she turned around.  
“Your grace.” She curtsied. Cersei gave her forced smile and reached for a strand of Lenore’s hair.  
“Maintaining it well, I see. Good.” Lenore smiled back at the queen, just as forced. She didn’t like how they made her dye her hair to hide who she was. She kept walking, not minding where she was going and bumped into a very large frame. The Hound, probably the most feared man in King’s Landing, except for his brother, maybe. But Lenore wasn’t too scared of him, why would she be? He’d never hurt her personally, nor did he have any reason to.   
“Sorry, m’lady,” he said with a wolfish grin.  
“My bad, Clegane.”

Lenore spent the rest of the day talking to Tyrion Lannister or sitting in the garden by herself. She was so sick of King’s Landing. It was very, very beautiful, but Lenore hated the current rulers of it. She wouldn’t mind a bit if the rightful ruler sat on the iron throne, the Targaryens. People everywhere were gossipping about Daenerys Targaryen, whether she was alive or not. She wanted to believe. Joffrey Baratheon. Pompous, ignorant little twat, that was all he was. This kingdom had gone so far off the road that Lenore wouldn’t be surprised if someone could read her mind. But if they could, she would be dead already. Joffrey might have sent his Dog on her. She scoffed to herself, wondering if the Hound would do it or not. Had he killed women? Probably… Babes? Hopefully not. He didn’t seem like that type. Sure, he killed for fun, but what was the fun in killing little children? She came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t. Lenore had never killed a man, but she had a long list.  
Darkness had fallen over King’s Landing, and Lenore decided to get back to her chamber. On her way there she passed the chambers on the first floor where Clegane stayed, and she wondered, why was she thinking about him earlier? And why were her nethers aching all of a sudden? She shook the horrid thoughts away and quickly walked back to her own chamber.  
The soft, warm bed that usually made Lenore fall asleep like a babe wasn’t giving her any comfort tonight. The ache wouldn’t go away, and neither did the thoughts of Sandor Clegane.   
She sighed and in a desperate attempt to get some sleep, she slid her pale hand down under her nightgown and slowly brought it up to her core. She touched herself gently but stopped once she realized that this wasn’t going to work. She stood up and slid off the nightgown. In her wardrobe, she picked out a deep red silk gown showing quite a bit of cleavage. She combed through her hair with her fingers, and she knew what she wanted now. She had decided.


	2. The Hound

Lenore peered her head out of her chamber door, looking around to see no one.  _ Good.  _ Quickly she tiptoed through the halls and down the stairs to the bottom floor. A few gold cloaks stood guarding the Court, but no one of importance could see her. She slowed down when she reached the corridor where she knew he was. She wasn’t nervous. Lenore pressed her ear against the wooden door. She heard some clanging of steel, and assumed that the Hound was sharpening his sword. The door creaked when her pale hand gripped the handle, and the sound of steel stopped at once. Lenore smirked. He was sharp, that man. Smirk remaining on her lips, she slid the door open and looked at the man inside. Sandor Clegane was sitting on a stool next to his bed, his hair quite messy and sweat gleamed over his brows. He was wearing breeches, boots and a shirt, but no armour. His brown eyes met her light blue ones with confusion.

“Are you lost, girl?” he asked and gave her a crooked grin. With a soft voice she spoke.  
“No… I’ve come to just the right place.” She toyed with a lock of her hair and bit her lip, watching the Hound’s eyes narrow a little.  
“Then what are you doing here?” The curtsey was gone and now only suspicion was left. Lenore shut the door behind her and took a few steps closer to the large man. Her eyes never left his as he stood up, now towering over her.

“I’m here because I want you to fuck me.” Her words confused Clegane.  
“Excuse me?” Lenore took a step closer and brought her hands to his shirt, feeling the soft fabric.  
“I want you to fuck me harder than a stallion mounts his mare.” Her voice was now sultry, and the Hound brought his hands to her waist, pulling her against him.  
“You’re out of your mind, girl.”   
“Mm… Maybe I am.” She was still playing with his shirt, breathing against his chest. The hairs brushed in different directions and poked up from his shirt. Lenore kissed the exposed part of his chest to show him she was serious. It worked, because the Hound grabbed her by her hips and tossed her over the bed, face down and arse in his direction.   
She felt his large hands on her behind, grabbing and then she squealed as he hit her.  
“You’re getting yourself into trouble, you know…” he teased, “little girls shouldn’t play with hounds. You might get hurt.” He bit her ear and she turned around, facing him.  
“I’m not playing, Clegane, and you won’t hurt me. No more than I want you to.” Lenore tugged at his shirt and he helped her get it off. She ran her hands over his broad chest, loving how strong he was.  
“Now how do you know that, little Lady?” Clegane hummed as he stripped Lenore of her silk dress and threw it on the floor, leaving her fully exposed to the Hound.   
Wow, what  _ had _ she gotten herself into? His lip twitched as his eyes roamed her body, and she shivered. Clegane smirked at the little goosebumps appearing on her pale skin.

“Frightened, girl?” he whispered in her ear before he shoved her on her back again, this time getting on top of her. Lenore didn’t get a chance to answer before he kissed her roughly and bit her lip, forcing a moan out of her. Next thing she knew, his hands were travelling from her hair, down to her chest, feeling her breasts. He licked her right nipple and chuckled when Lenore gave another moan.  
“Hard nipples, goosebumps, and all soft for me, wonder if your twat’s as wet as I think it is...” he hummed and she loved how foul mouthed he was, even in bed with a lady. His hand quickly made it down to her cunt, feeling her, confirming his belief. She was already slick, and the Hound noticed something odd  
“You’re bald…” he stated, not taking his hand off her. Lenore blushed, she had forgotten that he’d notice that.   
“Y-yes. Do you mind?” she asked and heard Clegane laugh.

“Not one bit.” He gave her cunt a quick slap before he stood up to remove his breeches. Lenore’s eyes followed his movements, all of her was aching for him now.  
“Get on all fours,” he ordered and she obeyed, looking slightly hesitant. “What? You said you wanted me to fuck ya like a stallion mounts his mare... But I think I prefer ‘like a Hound fucks his bitch’.” And with that comment he grabbed her by her hips and forced his cock into her cunt, and she cried out. It hurt, but it was good pain. She wanted it, and he knew it. He waited a few seconds before he began to move, but when he did, he hit her hard. His entire body weight rocked against her from behind as he pounded into her without mercy. Unable to talk, Lenore shut her eyes and moaned. Clegane grabbed her by her hair and shoved her face down against the bed, grunting as he thrust deep into her. He enjoyed her moans and the occasional screams when he gave it to her hard. He slapped her behind over and over again until he heard her sob. Lenore was so overwhelmed and the tension building in her abdomen was unknown to her, but oh it felt good.  
“M-more…” she breathed when she didn’t feel the stinging on her butt cheeks anymore. She heard the Hound chuckle and she let out a scream as he hit her even harder. The quick pace he set had the entire bed rocking back and forth. Lenore tried to move away as the feeling in her abdomen grew stronger and stronger, but Clegane wrapped his arm around her waist to stop her from moving.  
“If you don’t stop tensing your cunt around me, I’m going to- ahh,” he grunted as he felt her walls clamp down on his cock. The young woman in his arms couldn’t control her moans as she came and Sandor loved every second of it. She was beautiful and he wanted to get off now, he didn’t care if he did it inside her, so he let himself go, spilling his hot cum in her. If she had his child, no one would know it was his since no one had heard them, he thought, unaware of the woman outside the door.

He pulled out and laid himself down on the bed, next to the shaking woman. Lenore got on her back and remained silent so she’d catch her breath.  
“Fuck…” she then panted, and they both laughed. Lenore stood up and put her dress back on, patted her messy hair down with her hands and turned back to the Hound, who gave her a very satisfied look.  
“Good night, Clegane,” she hummed and left his chambers.

Lenore slept peacefully that night. Until a loud banging on her door and a woman’s voice shouting woke her up. She groaned and rolled over, wincing at the pain between her legs.  
“What’s going on?” she asked, obviously irritated.   
“Open the door, lady Baelish,” a male voice answered. Groaning again, Lenore got up and pushed the door open. She glared at the three gold cloaks outside the door. Her handmaiden, Lisha, looked frightened as she stood beside the big men.  
“What do you want that’s so important you can’t let a lady dress herself first?”  
“The king wants to see you.”  
“What business could he possibly have with me?” Lenore asked dismissively. Two of the gold cloaks grabbed her arms and pulled her out the door, and Lisha shouted something at them.  
“I asked you a bloody question!” Lenore spat at the men pulling her along.  
“I don’t fucking know, I don’t question the king’s orders! Heard him say something about the Hound.” She froze.  
“Well move on!” one of the men rushed her.  
“Stop dragging me then! It hurts, and pain doesn’t make me more willing to cooperate.”   
Lenore followed the cloaks down to the Court, where Joffrey-the-cunt sat with a smug face. The men let go of her and she looked to the right where Sandor Clegane was standing with his head bowed down, almost in shame. He looked up at Lenore and at the sight of her body in only her thin muslin nightgown, he tossed her his cloak, even though he rather enjoyed the sight of her nipples showing through the fabric. She muttered a small ‘thanks’ as she wrapped it around herself. The smell reminded her of last night.

“Lady Lenore Baelish, and Dog. I have received word about a particular encounter between you two last night. Any words? Shall we start with the lady?” The king rested his head on his hand and waited for Lenore to speak. She didn’t. Standing in Court in only her nightgown, in front of the whole royal family was humiliating enough without having to admit that she fucked the king’s Dog.  
“No? What about you, Hound? Do you admit to fucking this woman yesterday in your own chamber?”  
“Yes, your Grace,” Clegane said and Lenore fought the urge to punch both of them in their foul faces.  
“Did you rape her?”  
“No.” The king scoffed.   
“Shame…” Lenore felt the Hound’s eyes on her, begging her to look at him, but she didn’t care. Her eyes were fixed on the floor.  
“So…” the king continued, “My Lady, how did you end up in the bed of the Hound, if he didn’t force you? Answer me this time.”  
“I-I don’t know, your Grace. I guess I just… I was bored.”   
“I see… Did you enjoy it?” Lenore’s eyes widened at the question and the words got stuck in her throat. “I said: DID YOU ENJOY IT!?” Joffrey rose from his seat and stared at the black haired woman on the verge of tears.  
“Y-yes…” she mumbled and the king sat down again.  
“That wasn’t so hard now, was it? And what about you, Dog? Did you enjoy it? Young, pretty little thing, I bet you loved it. Hm?” Clegane cleared his throat.   
“Yes, I did.” Joffrey stood up again and slow clapped.   
“Very good, very good! Seeing as you two enjoy each other so much, I say you shall wed!”

“What!?” Lenore and Clegane shouted at the same time.  
“Yes, doesn’t that seem like a brilliant idea?”  
“No!” Lenore cried. She heard the Hound sigh. “This is- no, not a chance! He’s Kingsguard! He can’t marry!”  
“I am the king and my word is law! You shall be married within a fortnight, now get out of here!” Joffrey looked as pleased with himself as ever. His mother smiled happily, she always loved torturing Lenore. Before leaving the Court, Lenore walked closer to the throne and spat on the floor. She knew she’d regret it but she really didn’t care. Two gold cloaks grabbed her immediately and looked at the king. He nodded, and one of the men gave Lenore three hard slaps across her face, then let her go.  
Running through the halls back to her chamber, the Hound caught up with her. He grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop,  
“Get off me!” she cried.  
“Wasn’t a very bright move to spit at the king, you know,” he said calmly.   
“Piss off!”  
“Just wanted to tell you to stop causing scenes wherever you go.”  
“How dare you…” Lenore whispered before she got out of his grip and walked away. 

She slammed the door to her chamber and found Lisha sweeping the floor. As soon and the door shut behind her, Lenore fell to the floor in tears.  
“My Lady, are you alright?” Lisha asked and sat down next to her, putting her arm around Lenore’s waist.  
“No…” she sniffled.  
“What did the king want with you?”  
“He’s making me marry the Hound.” Lenore threw the white cloak on the floor at the thought of him. Lisha covered her mouth with her hand and gasped.  
“That beast!”  
“Yes, I can’t believe he would do this!”  
“No, I meant the Hound.”  
“Oh. Yes…” Lenore wiped the tears off her cheeks.  
“W-why did the king want you to wed the Hound?” Lisha asked carefully, not wanting to upset the lady she was tending to.  
“Because I fucked him.”  
“You _what_?”  
“I wanted to know what it was like to lay with someone by my own will! He’s almost the only man I know in this keep who’s never hurt me! Of course, Lord Tyrion would probably oblige if I asked him, but no. He’s not my type.”  
“And the Hound is?”  
“No!”  
“I’m sorry, my Lady. I just don’t understand.”  
“Me neither, Lisha… me neither.” There was a knock on the door. Lenore knew that rhythm all too well - one knock, pause, two knocks.   
“Yes, Petyr, come in…” she spoke and wiped the tears off her face. As Littlefinger stepped inside, Lenore sat down on her bed and Lisha stood beside her. Lisha was scared of Littlefinger, but she still wanted to protect her lady.

“May I have a word alone with you, Lenore?” he asked.  
“Why?”   
“I heard what happened.”   
“Go, Lisha.”   
When they were alone, Petyr walked closer to Lenore, got on his knees and put his hands on her legs.  
“What do you want?” she asked angrily.   
“Why did you do that, Lenore? I thought you were an intelligent woman.” His tone was degrading and Lenore wouldn’t take it.  
“It has nothing to do with you!”   
“Everything that happens to you has something to do with me. You are my niece.” Lenore scoffed.  
“Cut it out. And get out, I need to be alone,” she sneered at the sleazy man claiming to be her uncle.  
“I only want to help you,” he assured her.  
“Can you get the king to change his mind about this wedding?”   
“No, I’m afraid I ca-”   
“Then  _ get out. _ ” Lenore shooed him out the door. 

Finally she was alone to think. By the gods, her husband-to-be would probably torture her or something. On the other side, he’d never hurt her since she came to King’s Landing. As a child she feared him, who wouldn’t? Every time she passed him in the halls, she would either look discreetly at his burns, or at the floor. She always feared he would hurt her, because she’d heard the foulest stories about him. But instead, it was Meryn Trant who hurt her. That cunt mouthed, loathsome fucker raped her when she was merely nine years old. The thought sent shivers down her spine. Getting raped wasn’t new to Lenore. She was a pretty girl in King’s landing, not high standing, so no one would care if they found out. She could only thank the gods that she’d never gotten pregnant. Not that she believed in the gods. If they were real, there would be more justice in this world. No, they were just a superstition. She ran her hands through her hair and sighed. Her head hit the wall and she shut her eyes. She needed food. It was past lunchtime and the woman hadn’t even had breakfast. She didn’t bother to find Lisha, but got her own food. Bread and some burnt bacon would have so suffice. A few potatoes wouldn’t hurt. Or wine. She’d kill for some wine right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this first raunchy chapter... and the drama that follows ;)


	3. The Wedding

In the garden, the flowers withered and the sky grew dark. Lenore had made it through the last week and a half, and now she sat outside with a glass of wine. No one else was outside this evening, which was rare. They surely missed out on something, Lenore hummed to herself as she watched the full moon above her. She’d always been fascinated by the moon and stars. Nighttime was her favourite time, peaceful and beautiful. The garden at night was the only thing she’d miss about King’s landing. And Lisha, of course. _Clank. _The metal doors opened and Lenore heard the sound of armour.  
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” It was the rough, low voice of the Hound.  
“Yes… here I am.” She didn’t try to hide her disappointment. The Hound stood behind her now and she felt his warmth against her back.  
“What do you want, Clegane?” she muttered. He hunched over so his face was in level with hers, but still behind her.  
“Why did you do it?” he bugged and Lenore felt goosebumps spread across her skin as his breath brushed her neck.  
“Oh, how I wish everyone would stop asking me that question.”  
“It’s alright, no one here to hear ya,” he said.  
“So I assume no one’s here to hear me scream.” She didn’t look at him, she only finished her wine and tossed the cup on the ground next to her.  
“Why would you scream?” Clegane asked.  
“Aren’t you going to rape me?”  
“What? No, I’m not going to rape you, Lenore.”  
“Don’t call me by my name! I don’t want want to hear it from your foul mouth, I have to withstand enough of it already!” she snapped and turned around to see a grin on Clegane’s half burnt face.   
For a moment she emphasized with him, but her senses returned to her the next second.  
“We’ll be man and wife soon, then it will be expected of me to address you by your name.”  
“No, we won’t. I’m leaving King’s Landing.”  
“You’re leaving?” the Hound scoffed. “Don’t think so, girl.” What did he know? He had no power over her, and she had to leave before he got that power.  
“You can’t stop me.”  
“No, but I can advise against it.” He scooted forward so he was facing her. “If you stay here, you will marry me and be unhappy for the rest of your life. I’ll probably have to put some Clegane pups inside you and you’ll have to suffer through the pain of childbirth a couple times. If you leave, you’ll be happy for a few days until the hunger sets in, you get thirsty and you lose your way. You’ll most likely be found by some bad men on the road, they’ll kidnap you, have their ways with you, fuck you in every way until they grow bored of you, then they’ll leave you there to die. What’s it gonna be?” His voice was demanding and deep, and took Lenore with surprise.  
“I’ll take the second option, please,” she growled, and once again, the man in front of her scoffed.  
“I heard you were intelligent. Apparently it was a lie.”  
“Shut up, Clegane!”  
“Why should I?” he retorted.  
“You don’t know anything about me! I’m leaving, now.” She got up from the ground but the Hound followed and yanked her hair so she was forced to stop.  
“Get off me, dog!” she shouted but he held her in place.  
“Tell me why you did it and I’ll let you go. I’ll let you dig your own grave, but tell me, _why _did you walk into my chamber and beg me to fuck you?”  
“Because I wanted to!”  
“_Why? _Why me?”  
“Because you- ow! You had never hurt me! Now let me go!”  
“I don’t think that was a good enough reason…”  
“Fuck you!”  
“Yes, that’s what you _did_,” he was growing impatient, and suddenly Lenore flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. Something about this turned her on. Clegane didn’t loosen the grip he had of her hair when he kissed her back, forcing his tongue into her mouth. His free hand grabbed her hip and held it hard. The young woman was once again in his arms, completely surrendering to him. He didn’t understand what madness led her to do this, but he didn’t care.  
He picked her up and backed her up against the wall, and she wiggled her hips to feel his hardness against her. A moan escaped her lips as he bit down on her neck. His hands roamed her body and made its way in under her dress. Without removing his gloves he pushed two fingers inside her. The feeling of the leather stung but Lenore bit her lip and tried to focus on something else. She failed when he pumped his fingers in and out of her vigorously. She cried out from the pain, and Clegane seemed to like that, because he groaned and pushed his hips against her. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to make her understand who he was. He withdrew his fingers and unbuckled his belt, pushing his pants down just enough to let his cock spring free. He grabbed onto the ends of her dress and pushed it up, revealing her wet cunt.  
“Little girl likes to play with hounds, does she? Likes to get hurt…” he clucked and thrust himself inside her. She cried out as he filled her up, and this time he didn’t give her time to adjust. He set a quick pace and fucked her hard into the wall. The stone scraped against her back and the Hound enjoyed hearing her whimper in pain. He was far from the hardest he could fuck her, yet she was sobbing and whining like he’d fucked her for days. He wondered how she could possibly be this tight. She couldn’t be very old, she must still be growing.  
He pushed that thought aside and grabbed hold of her hair again. He pulled at it every now and then, and each time, Lenore’s face twisted in pain and she hissed. And each time, Clegane smirked. Finally he felt her tighten even more around him, she was close. He pushed her down on all fours, but her legs wouldn’t carry her, so he had to hold her by her hips. She screamed loudly as she came around his cock, milking him, taking his cum as she was giving her own. Her voice was torn as her moans hushed down. Clegane grunted as he emptied himself in her wet twat, then he pulled out and stood up. He looked at Lenore who was still on the ground, trying to catch her breath.  
“Come on, girl, get up,” he urged as he buckled his belt. He helped her up and held the door for her as they walked back into the castle.  
He walked Lenore back to her chambers, but didn’t say a word to her. When she opened her chamber door he gave her a small ‘night’ and she hummed back at him. _The fucker. _How had he managed to under her dress a second time? What the fuck was wrong with her, why was she drawn to him? Something about his rough, twisted features, his low voice and that scarred, broad chest stirred something inside her. _Disgusting, Lany… _she thought to herself. One thing was for sure though, she did _not _want to marry him. He was a good fuck but Lenore could never put up with him for more than a half hour. In her bed, she cursed the king over and over again, and the last words filling her mind before she fell asleep were ‘fuck the king’.

The days flew by and a fortnight had passed since she first fucked the Hound. Lenore sighed and sat up. In the mirror she saw how tangled and messed up her hair was. The braids she’d worn hung in different directions and she looked like a raven had built a nest in her hair. She pulled out the small clips that held her braids together and combed through her hair with her fingers. Just as she stood up she remembered. Today was the day she’d wed the Hound. There was a small knock on her door before it creaked open.  
“Good morning, my Lady,” Lisha said, “oh dear, your hair! Let me wash and comb it for you.”  
“No need to wash it, I did it yesterday myself.” Lenore yawned loudly and stretched her back, and Lisha giggled slightly.  
“You’re not a very graceful lady,” she joked.  
“Do I have to be? You’re the only one here.” Lenore chuckled. Her handmaiden shook her head and went to get the comb. She combed her lady’s hair and helped washing her face.  
“How are you feeling, my Lady?” she asked.  
“Oh, just terrific, I’m to marry the man of my dreams!” Lisha looked concerned as she looked at Lenore.  
“It is as you said though… He hasn’t ever hurt you.”  
“No, but he has hurt others.”  
“Oh as if you mind! You talk about hurting people every day. Even killing them. I like to imagine you’d be quite brutal.” They both laughed, aware of the truth in those words. Lenore took Lisha’s hands in her own.  
“Do you have any idea how much I value you? You’re not just my handmaiden. You’re my friend. Possibly my  _ only  _ friend.” Lisha threw her arms around Lenore in a second. She hugged her back and smiled.  
“Thank you, my lady. You are very dear to me as well.”  
“Do you even know how you came into my service? I’m not highborn so I should not actually have a handmaiden.”   
“Tell me.”   
“Littlefinger insisted. He’s a downright cunt to deal with when he wants something. He always gets it. He went up to Queen Cersei one day and said: my little Lenore, she is incapable of taking care of herself. She doesn’t wash her hair, doesn’t care what she wears, never eats enough and never empties her chamberpot. And I don’t have the time to take on that role. I request that you give her a handmaiden, or she might end up smelling like king Robert,“ Lenore laughed, ”Cersei had never done anything faster in her life. You came into my service only minutes after that. Of course, Littlefinger lied. I didn’t wash my hair, that was true, but all the rest was false. I was eleven.” Lisha’s face was hilarious, she was so shocked and amused at the same time.   
“That’s bloody brilliant! Poor king though,” she laughed, “I’ll get you something to eat. Have you received a dress yet?” Lenore shook her head.  
“I think Petyr’s choosing one… he should be here within the hour.”  
“Very well.” Lisha disappeared in a few seconds to fetch some breakfast.  
Lenore undressed and got in the bath that was already drawn for her. Scalding hot just as she liked. She was finished scrubbing herself when Lisha got back with some eggs and bacon. There was a cup of wine on the tray as well.  
“I got you some wine, my lady. Figured you’d need it today,” she hummed.  
“Oh, you are simply the greatest handmaiden anyone could ever wish for!” Lenore burst out. She got out of the bath just as the door opened. The Hound raised his eyebrows when he saw the naked woman.  
“Ser, I-”   
“Not a knight,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off Lenore even though it was Lisha he was talking to.  
“Clegane,” she corrected herself, “my Lady was just taking a bath, I don’t believe it’s appropriate for you to be in here while she’s not dressed!”  
“Oh, piss off. Already seen her naked twice, nothing new to me.”  
“Still, I- wait, twice? My Lady?” Lisha was shocked.  
“Yes, there was an encounter in the garden a not long after the first time…” Lenore mumbled, “What do you want, Hound?”  
“Just came to get my cloak, that’s all.” Lenore nodded her head towards the bed, and the abnormally large man went to get it, then left the chamber without a word. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Lenore once though, neither had she taken her eyes off him.  
Lisha swept a bathrobe around her.   
“My Lady, you didn’t tell me! How did that happen, I thought you were repelled by him!”  
“I am…” Lenore mumbled whilst staring intently at the door, “I don’t know how it happened. One second I was shouting at him, the next he had me pinned against the wall and moaning like a whore paid in gold.” She shuddered.  
“Ugh…” as Lisha tried to put the pieces together, Lenore gorged on her food.   
__ Knock… knock knock.  
“Cumm inn,” she slurred and Littlefinger entered. He cleared his throat, gaining both the girls’ attention.  
“I have your gown, Lenore. It’s time.”  
“Bu’ I barrwy ad bwekfast!” She gaped and Lisha tried to hide her laughter as Littlefinger sighed.  
“Eat up and put it on. Lisha will do your hair and you will meet me in the halls by the chapel.”  Lenore swallowed the gob of food in her mouth and washed it down with some wine.  
“Bit early in the morning, don’t you think?” Petyr asked.  
“Nah, I mean I’m marrying a Hound, I think it’s  _ jussssst  _ the right time!” Lenore giggled and he grabbed her wrist, causing some wine to pour out of the cup.  
“Heey!”  
“Have you no sense, woman? Have you been drinking in your sleep too? I can’t have you drunk on your wedding, you’ll cause a scene.  __ Another  scene.”  
“M-my Lord Baelish, if I may…” Lisha stuttered. Petyr raised an eyebrow and looked at her, waiting for an explanation.  
“Lady Lenore has only had that cup of wine, I-I assure you. I think it’s the nerves. Please excuse her, she’s nervous, not drunk,” she said and Petyr sighed.  
“Very well. If she acts like that during the ceremony, it’ll be on your hands,” he warned and tossed the gown on the bed before leaving the room.  
“Cunt…” Lisha mumbled, shocking Lenore.   
“Oh, Lisha! Look at you, speaking up!” The dark blonde woman blushed.   
“I must not speak like that about your uncle. Forgive me.” Lenore laughed out loud.  
“You speak the truth! Way too few people do. Now let’s have a look at this dress, shall we?”  
She picked it up and laid it straight on the bed. It was beautiful cream, full of embroidered details and pearls, with a trail, flare sleeves and a square cut highlighting her breasts.

  
“Put it on!” Lisha urged her. She slipped out of the robe and into the dress. Lisha helped her and then she went to look in the mirror.  
“You look beautiful, my Lady!”  
“Aye… I should be marrying a lord.” Lenore smiled. “Unfortunately that’s never gonna happen.” She turned to her handmaiden who was observing her. She took another sip on her wine and sat down on the chair in front of the mirror.  
“Will you do my hair?” she asked, and Lisha snapped out of her trance.  
“Of course, my Lady! How?”  
Her hair was braided into two buns at the back of her head and the rest was flowing down her back, thinning out towards the waist, and stopping there. Lisha walked her out to the halls where Petyr Baelish was waiting.  
“You look astounding, Lenore,” he drawled. Lenore gave a weak smile and inhaled.  _ You’ll be fine, Lany. You’ll make it. You’ll be fine.  _ she repeated to herself in her head. Fear, hate and sadness overwhelmed her as she took Petyr’s arm and followed him. He was giving her away to the Hound. As the doors to the chapel opened, Lenore gasped. She wasn’t expecting the whole bloody royal family to be there, the small council, all of the king’s guards and some civilians as well. Sandor Clegane stood waiting for her on the stair. On top of it was the high Septon. She felt Petyr tug at her arm, apparently she had stopped. As they walked, she looked from side to side at the people. She saw Sansa Stark among them, and she was giving Lenore a sad smile. That girl had suffered in King’s landing.  
Petyr kissed her hand and walked back into the audience. Now she was left in the claws of the Hound. Lenore glared at him but he didn’t want to look her in the eye. The yellow cloak hung over his arms like a dead animal he’d just killed. Instead of his usual armour he was wearing a brown attire with golden stripes on it. He looked very uncomfortable in it, Lenore would have laughed if she wasn’t in complete mental agony.  
“You may now cloak the bride, and take her under your protection,” the septon’s voice sounded. Lenore turned her back against the Hound who cleared his throat and covered her shoulders with the cloak. She turned back to face the Septon.  
“Lords and ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men, to witness the union between man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” Lenore’s legs swayed and she wanted to give in at the word ‘forever’. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was done. Or so she thought before she heard the king speak.

“And now for the bedding ceremony!”  _ What? Oh, no... _


	4. The Bedding

Lenore’s eyes widened and she stared at the Hound who looked equally surprised.  
“Can we run!?” she asked desperately.  
“Don’t think so, my lady...” he answered and the people cheering ran up to them and started grabbing at them both. Lenore was up in the air, carried away by men, while the women struggled to lift Clegane from the floor.  
“Get off me!” he grunted and only got giggles in response. What happened to the fear everyone had for him? He wasn’t carrying a sword, maybe that was the reason. Lenore’s thinking was interrupted by someone tearing at her dress. She shut her eyes and furrowed her brows, doing her best to push the images of past rapes away.   
Eventually she found herself in only her undergown, in Clegane’s chamber. The men that had carried her there laughed. In came the women, they hadn’t been able to lift him, so they just pulled him by his arms. He was still almost fully clothed. One of the ladies made an attempt to pull his shirt off, but he snarled at her and she immediately withdrew her hands. _Ah, there was the fear.   
_ “Come on, Clegane, take it off!” a man shouted.  
“Fuck off and I will. Everyone, out!” The women ran first and the men followed. Clegane was so uncomfortable he could barely believe it.  
“So, the big bad hound doesn’t like to be touched by the ladies?” Lenore teased and sat down on the bed.  
“The big bad hound doesn’t like being touched at all.”  
“Oh, really? I seem to remember differently…” Clegane tackled her down on the bed and stared her right in the eye.  
“Don’t. push me. Little girl,” he snarled.  
“I’m not. a little. girl,” Lenore snarled back.  
“No?” he eyed her up and down, ”how old are you anyway? Seems like a good thing for a husband to know about his wife.”  
“Oh gods, stop calling us husband and wife, it’s disgusting. And I’m fifteen.” The Hound flew up in a second and his eyes widened.  
“What? You’re a child! I fucked and married a child!”  
“Oh come on, don’t be such a little bitch about it. What about you?” Lenore sat up and asked, tilting her head to the side.  
“Me? I’m forty-fucking-six!”  
“Hm.”  
“You don’t think that’s wrong? I’m three times your age, Lenore!”  
“I don’t care, _Sandor_.” He looked at her, taken aback. He wasn’t used to anyone calling him by his first name, especially not his child-bride who loathed him. “If you’re gonna call me by my first name I’ll do the same. And yes, it’s wrong, but so is rape, murder, that bastard Joffrey being king, but it still happens! Deal with it. I didn’t take you for a bleeder.”  
“I’m not a bleeder.” He climbed back onto the bed pushed Lenore on her back by her throat and whispered in her ear. “I could choke you to death right here, right now and walk away without feeling a damn thing.” She felt her breath get heavy, why was this so hot?  
“I dare you…” she whispered before their lips crashed together in a hungry kiss. His warm hand was still wrapped around her throat while he grabbed a fistful of her hair with the other. Lenore broke the kiss and told him to take his shirt off, but he only wrapped his hand tighter around her throat, making her gasp.  
“Don’t tell me what to do, girl,” he loosened his grip and brought his lips close to hers, then moving to her ear. He bit the tip of it and ripped her undergown in two pieces.  
“Hey!” she cried. Sandor chuckled and stood up. He took his shirt off and Lenore bit her lip at the sight of his scarred chest. He undid his belt and kicked his boots and pants off, then climbed back on top of the young girl, tossing the remains of her undergown aside.  
  
He slid inside her like a sword in its sheath, that’s how wet she was. He grabbed her hair again and began pumping in and out of her hard. She moaned and wrapped her legs around him, wanting to take him deeper.  
“Oh, gods… harder!” she urged in between thrusts. He obeyed her wish and she cried out in pain, feeling like he’d cleave her in half. And she loved it.  
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked suddenly and grabbed her face in both hands.  
“Why? Do you want me to be afraid of you?” The Hound thought for a moment.  
“Yes,” he groaned, and fucked her even harder, “would make fucking you so much more enjoyable!” Lenore moaned at his words and furious pounding.  
“Ohh-please… like you’re- ahhh- not enjoying yourself n-now!” she half moaned half screamed and he chuckled.  
“Aye…” then he brought his hands back to her throat and twisted her neck so she was facing the window. He didn’t stop his pounding when he put his thumbs over her vocal chords and added pressure.  
“Just a bit more pressure and you’re dead, girl,” he murmured, and now she was scared. She was on the mere brink of death, they both knew it. He could kill her any moment. She couldn’t help herself, the feeling of fear combined with the Hound’s merciless pounding was too much. She came undone for him right there, his hands still threatening to take her life. He was taken aback by the girl’s reaction to his threat, but he loved it, and buried himself deep inside her. With a low groan he emptied himself in her tight, wet little cunt, earning yet another row of moans from her.  
“You really are out of your mind, girl,” he said as he pulled out of her, “you could’ve been dead by now.” Lenore rolled onto her side, her eyes wide with excitement and lust.  
“I loved it…” she confessed.  
“Were you scared?”  
“No. I knew you wouldn’t kill me” She bit her lip and smiled.  
“Liar,” Sandor snapped.  
“Dog,” she muttered back. Then she did something she had never imagined herself doing in a million years. She moved closer to him and closed her eyes. As he put his hand on her waist, she felt herself shudder. She’d never felt something so… so… good. She flew up in a second. Wrong. It was wrong.  
“I can’t. No. Goodnight,” she mumbled and threw her dress back on. The Hound hadn’t even got a chance to reply before she was out the door. Not that he knew what to say. He didn’t mind a warm, naked body next to him, seeing as he’d slept alone every other night in his life. This night was no different, and he slept just as poorly as usual. The recurring dream of his face being shoved into the fire haunted him yet again.  
He rubbed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair when he woke up. This was not going to be a good day. He drew himself a bath to wash off the smell of sex from last night. In the bath he got himself off by replaying the scene from yesterday in the hopes of feeling better. It released some of the tension he was carrying but didn’t still his mind.  
  
Lenore was speaking to Littlefinger when the Hound entered the Court, taking his position by the king. She couldn’t look at him. She had to leave, she didn’t care how many men would rape her or how she would die, she just couldn’t face the Hound again.  
“Are you listening to me, Lenore?” Petyr asked.  
“No.”  
“What is occupying your mind?”  
“What do I have to do to get you to help me escape from this place?” Lenore raised her head and looked at him.  
“You want to leave? This is your home, my Lady.”  
“No.”  
“Is that the only word you know nowadays?”  
“_No,_” she stated and walked away. It didn’t take long until she heard footsteps behind her, but they were too heavy and too clanky to be Petyr’s. She stopped, but didn’t turn around.  
“I heard what you two were discussing,” the Hound said, “you still want to leave, huh? Aren’t you a stupid cunt…” Lenore turned around and stared at him.  
“Shouldn’t you stay in your place by your precious master? Whose orders you love to obey?”  
“Quit your whining, bitch, and get back to _your _position as a whore!”  
“You wish I was a whore so you’d only have to pay to fuck me when you want, because now you’ll never see my naked body again.”  
“Liar,” he muttered and pinned her by her wrists to the wall, “that’s all it takes, you idiot. I could have my way with you right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me. You wouldn’t _want _to stop me.” Lenore spat right in his face and he immediately let go of her, only to slap her hard across the cheek, causing her to lose balance and fall to the floor.  
“Stupid dog!” she shouted as she got up again and went to hit him but he managed to turn her around and press her head against the wall. He was about to bash her skull in when Joffrey called out.  
“Dog! Come here.” Sandor released her and whispered:  
“You’re not going anywhere, I’ll make damn sure of that. Oh, wait, I don’t think I have to, I bet you can’t leave until you have another go with me, bet your cunt is all slick right now.” He paused and bit her ear. “You’re a mad little girl and the only reason you want out of here is because you’re scared. You run away the second you feel something.”  
“What do you know about anything, I bet you’re no different!”   
As he walked away, Lenore spotted Lisha. She looked furious and like she wanted to attack Clegane, but she was being restrained by Littlefinger. He let her go and she ran to Lenore.  
“My Lady… Come with me,” she whispered and walked her back to her chamber.  
Lisha patted Lenore’s lip with the wet cloth.  
“There, it should feel better in a bit. At least the bleeding’s stopped. May I ask what he said to you before he went back to the king?”  
“Oh, it was just… something that happened yesterday. Nothing of importance,” she lied. Oh she was a liar indeed, if only her husband knew.  
“I won’t ask again, my Lady.”  
“Littlefinger’s gonna sell me out.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I accidentally told him I wanted to leave King’s Landing. He didn’t seem to like that idea.”  
“Well of course not, he’s your uncle. He wants to be with you.” Lisha spoke, her voice soft as ever, and began brushing Lenore’s hair with her fingers. It helped her relax a little bit.  
Lenore sat in front of queen Cersei, waiting for her to speak.  
“Lenore, dear girl, precious little flower,” she started, “I received some sad news about you today. A reliable source told me you wanted to leave King’s Landing. Why is that?”  
Oh, Cersei was good at sounding concerned, but everyone saw through her anyway.  
“That spider! Your Grace, is Littlefinger really a reliable source?”  
“Littlefinger?” Cersei laughed. “Oh, no. Your husband told me, he was quite upset about it.” Lenore couldn’t find words. Whenever she tried to speak she failed.  
“Please, do tell me, little flower, why don’t you want to stay with us?”  
“I only feel like… I don’t belong here. You have done so much for me, but I wish to explore the world.”  
“You are not our prisoner. You’re free to leave if that is your wish.”  
__What? Lenore couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  
“Really?”  
“Why, of course! But…” Cersei leaned forward, “if you do, I’m afraid your precious handmaiden won’t survive without you.” The threat was obvious.  
“What!? She has nothing to do with this!”  
The queen only smiled.  
“You are dismissed.”


	5. Play a game

Lenore went straight to the Hound’s chambers. She didn’t knock, just burst in.  
“You treacherous little shit!” she shouted and the Hound laughed at her.  
“Take it Cersei got to you.”  
“I’m going to murder you,” Lenore snarled. She was furious. Why did he even want her to stay? What good would it do him?  
“I’d like to see you try.” He stood up and grabbed her wrists, stopping her as she lashed forward to hit him.  
“Why’d you do it!?” she shouted and he kissed her roughly, bit her lip and pushed her down on the bed.  
“Cause I like the way you feel on my cock,” he groaned, and before she could answer he was inside her again. She couldn’t deny that she liked it too, but that didn’t make her want to stay.

Breathing heavily, Lenore sat up and pulled the duvet over her body.  
“Don’t act modest, girl… not after what you just did.”  
“Shut up,” she mumbled and got up to leave, but the Hound grabbed her wrist. She looked at him and her brows furrowed.  
“People will get suspicious if you keep leaving my chamber every night.”   
“So?”  
“They’ll think you only come in here to fuck and then leave. That might lead to someone else thinking they can do the same to you, and you might get raped.” It sounded like he was actually concerned.  
“Rape is nothing new to me…” Lenore mumbled and looked away. Remembering that she was fully nude, she reached for her dress.  
“Don’t,” Sandor urged, “you look good like this.” Lenore blushed and hated herself for not leaving. Truth was, for Sandor Clegane, he wanted her to stay. She was warm and soft, and her eyes were always so bright, even on the darkest of days. He enjoyed the smell of her femininity and he liked being around a woman he wasn’t paying.  
“Sit down, let’s... talk,” he suggested and Lenore obeyed. “Who raped you? Who do you want me to kill?”  
“You’d kill someone for raping me? Be careful or I might start thinking you care about me.”  
“Go on, tell me. Who?”  
“Who didn’t? Half of the kingsguard for all I can remember.”  
“ _ I’d  _ get killed for killing that many kingsguards. Who was the first?” Lenore swallowed as she hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him with this. But why wouldn’t she? Even if he told the whole kingdom, only Lisha would care.  
“Meryn Trant,” she answered.  
“Meryn Trant is a fucking cunt. I’d kill him without batting an eye if he wasn’t a fucking kingsguard like me.”  
“I was nine. I don’t know the names of the other men. Well, Ser Ilyn Payne was one. I was thirteen when that happened.”  
“Now I get why you don’t think the age difference between us is fucked up.”  
“Mm…” Lenore blinked and wiped the tears that fell on her cheeks. Sandor felt awkward, not knowing what to do to help. He’d seen lords stroke the hair of their ladies when they were upset, so he figured that was a good move. The young girl shuddered when he did so.  
“I wanted to know what it was like to lay with someone by my own will,” she finally said when her voice returned to her.  
“Huh?”  
“That’s why I came to your chambers that night. You’re one of the few who hadn’t hurt me before, so I figured…”   
“That’s not a bright move, Lenore. You never know who’s going to hurt you.”   
“I knew you wouldn’t.”   
“I could have.”   
“But you didn’t.” The Hound sighed.  
“No. I didn’t.” They sat in silence, the odd couple. Neither of them knew what to think of the other.  
“You were right, though,” Lenore said, “I am scared. Not of you, but of this place. I don’t want to get raped again.”   
“That’s understandable.”  
“Have you ever raped someone?” she asked and stared him right in the eye.  
“Never,” he said, and he was honest. He thought Lenore’s silence was a sign of fear, so he put his hand on her naked shoulder. “Stay here tonight. I’ll keep you safe.”  
“I can’t. It’s wrong.”   
“Lots of wrong things in this world, you said it yourself. Do you  _ want _ to leave?” he asked and she was quiet a long time before she answered.  
“No.” That night, Lenore allowed Sandor to put his arm around her waist, and she allowed herself to enjoy it. It was nice to fall asleep in the warm embrace of a strong man. No matter how fucked up it was.  
The sound of grunting woke her up and she was faced with a shirtless Sandor Clegane, fighting a leather practising puppet. He lowered his sword when he heard her yawn.  
“Sleep well?” he asked. Lenore nodded and ran her hand through her hair. She looked up and down the length of his sword, then at the puppet.  
“As if you need practise, I’ve seen you fight. Seen you kill. Anyone in King’s Landing is but a fly to you.”  
“Are you trying to flatter me, girl?” Sandor tossed the sword on the bed, in front of Lenore. He picked a scab off his index finger and looked at her.  
“No. I’m trying to understand.”   
“Understand what? You’re a lady, you’re not supposed to understand killing.”  
“Isn’t that up to me, what I choose to learn or not?”  
“Have you ever held a sword?” he asked and she shook her head. He nodded towards the blade on the bed.  
“Can I?” He nodded again and she picked it up. The duvet slid down and revealed her breasts, and the air caused her nipples to stiffen, much to Sandor’s pleasure.  
"A naked woman ready to kill, I think I might enjoy being married.”  
“I’m happy one of us is getting something out of this marriage.”  
“You’re too young to be bitter.” Lenore would have responded with a witty comment, but she was too fascinated by the heavy sword in her hands.  
“Do you want to try it out? Here, put this on.” He tossed her his shirt. “A dress is nothing to fight in, and I’ll be too distracted if you wear nothing.” As Lenore was putting the shirt on, she said:   
“Maybe you shouldn’t have ruined my undergarments then.” She grabbed the sword again and walked up to Clegane. He stood behind her as she swung the sword at the puppet, but hit it with the flat side. Loud laughter came from the man behind her, and she muttered a small ‘shut up’.  
“You need to be steady on your hands, and you’re holding it too far down the handle.” Lenore took another turn, and this time she hit the puppet’s shoulder. She grunted as she adjusted the sword again.  
“Better, but the shoulders are protected by armour. Aim for the throat.”   
“I tried! But it’s heavy”, she admitted.  
“Ought to get you a lady-sword then. Try again.” She took a deep breath, raised the sword and hit the arm of the puppet.  
“Fuck this”, Sandor said and took the sword from her, “watch my body language. You can’t fight with full force if you have no support from your body.”  
Lenore had indeed watched his body, but not his body language. She was preoccupied with watching how his oblique muscles moved when he swung, and the sweat gleaming on his chest.  
“D’you get it?” he asked and handed the sword back to her, but she threw it on the table nearby.  
“Yes, and we’ll practise later”, she brought her hand to his side and felt his warm body. She moved so that she was pushing him against the wall, grinning playfully at him.  
“The hell you doing, girl?” Sandor questioned and ran his hand through Lenore’s hair.  
“Swordfighting suddenly became very attractive.” She tore the shirt off of her so she was naked in front of him. Sandor was confused by the girl’s behaviour, but he wasn’t gonna turn down a good fuck because of it, so he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, earning a squeal from her. He dropped her on the bed with her arse up and climbed on top of her. He moved her hair to the side and placed some rough kisses down her neck until he reached her shoulder where he bit down.  
“Ahh- Clegane!” He put his hand over her mouth, pressed himself against her and put his mouth to her ear.  
“I’m the Hound,” he growled and undid his breeches with his free hand, “and you’re my bitch.” He pushed himself into her already wet cunt and fucked her hard into the bed, and her muffled screams were like music to his ears. He wasn’t used to women wanting him, more so giving him screams of actual pleasure. He’d only ever fucked whores, and he’d grown tired of their faked moans, and besides, he didn’t want to hurt them more than necessary, or maybe he wouldn’t be allowed back, but with Lenore, he had a feeling that she loved it. When he fucked a whore too hard, the tears on her face would come with a pained expression that she failed to hide. When Lenore cried in pain, she still begged for more. When he slowed down the pace, she whimpered and urged him to fuck her harder.  
“Go on then, make me howl, you big bad hound,” she dared him when he took his hand off her mouth. He flipped her over so she was on her back, he wanted to see her face for this. He kissed her roughly and bit her lip as he unbuckled his belt. She watched him fold it in half, and before she had time to react she heard a loud ‘clatch’ and cried out at the stinging pain in her thigh.  
“What the-” he smacked her with the belt again, on her other thigh this time. The pain was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She screamed out loud and tried to sit up, but Sandor pushed her back down again. He wanted to play a game.  
“Every time you open your mouth, girl, I’m going to give you another hit. If you manage to be quiet, you’ll get a reward.” Sandor loved this sense of domination and power, and the little Lady Baelish could learn one thing or another from a good beating. She nodded and bit her lip.  
“Ready?” he asked and she nodded again. He used almost full force as he hit her again, and she cried out and writhed until she managed to turn over to her stomach, she couldn’t handle it.  
“No, no, I’m sorry- I- owww fuck…” she sobbed. Sandor watched her bum as she tried to move away, but he held her in place. This time he let the leather belt come down on her arse, softer than the previous smack, but hard enough for Lenore to give another cry. He smirked as he heard her curse under her breath, despite the pain she was still competitive and wanted to win. She wouldn’t give up, she wanted her reward. Three sharp hits on her bum later, she was curled up in a fetus position. Sandor watched her with hungry eyes as she recovered and stretched out her body again, rubbing the red welts he’d created.  
“You know you can give up, right? Your punishment isn’t that bad, you’d just have to suck my cock…” he teased.  
“Hit me, Hound,” she barely whispered and he did as she asked. She drew blood from her own lip when she bit it to keep quiet, but still a pained moan escaped. Lenore could taste her blood and tears, but she wasn’t about to give up. Not to this man. Two hits on her breasts she failed to keep quiet, but the third time, when he hit her arse again, she finally succeeded. She wanted to cry out of happiness, but didn’t dare make a sound until the Hound said she could. She couldn’t bare another hit. The sound of leather and metal hitting the floor made her relax her trembling body, and she dared look at him. The lust in his eyes was obvious as he looked at her.  
“Impressive, girl… Get on your back. Time for your reward.” Lenore obeyed and let Sandor adjust her body to fit his arms.  
“Close your eyes”, he said and she did, then something warm and wet came down on her thigh, where the leather had been before. Sandor kissed and licked all the welts he’d created, before he made his way down to her cunt. He grazed it with his tongue and Lenore shot up.  
“No!” she gasped and Sandor’s brows furrowed, “you can’t.”   
“‘Course I can, and I think I’m quite good too, the hell’s wrong?”  
“All the ladies I’ve talked with have described this, uh, act as romantic and intimate. An act of love. You can’t do that to me.” Lenore was working herself up.  
“Piss on them. Not like you’re gonna get a chance to have someone else do this to you anyway”, he saw something change in Lenore’s eyes, but she chewed on the side of her bottom lip like she did when she was anxious. “What’s it gonna be, you gonna let me lick your wounds? I’ll be a good dog.” She laughed a little and nodded.  
“Guess you’re right…” she admitted and as Sandor reached down to her cunt again she mumbled “for once” and he flicked her clit with his middle finger, making her squeal.   
“Shut up and enjoy,” he said and brought his tongue to her slit and licked her. He sucked, kissed and licked her up and down, varying from a quick and rough pace to a slow and gentle pace, while indulging her sweet honey and savoured the sound of her soft moans. He’d only heard loud and desperate moans from her, not soft ones like this.  
“Oh gods, Clegane”, she gasped when he pinched the pink bud between his fingers. He groaned as he tasted her again, loving how wet she was for him.  
“All for me, huh?” he smirked and sucked on her clit.   
“Sshhut up, dog”, she whimpered and felt the tension build up in her abdomen again. That indescribable feeling she’d never experienced before her first fuck with the Hound. He buried his face in her sweet cave and held her legs still when he felt her on the edge of cumming. His nose was rubbing her clit and his tongue lapped up all the wetness it could, and then she came for him, her soft voice was raspy as she moaned and the honey from her cunt grew sweeter.  
“Fuck- Sa- Cleg-gane- ahhh” Sandor couldn’t help chuckling as Lenore couldn’t even remember his name properly.  
“Good gods”, she breathed when she finally relaxed back onto the pillow. Sandor kissed her roughly, making her taste herself.   
“No Gods, just me. The bloody god-forsaken fucking Hound.”  
“The bloody god-forsaken fucking Hound…” Lenore repeated.


	6. Marei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly, a lot to unpack in this chapter..  
PS! Forgot to mention it in the beginning but this fic starts somewhere in early season 2!

Lenore sat in her chamber brushing out her hair, humming a tune. She could sing well, but not exceedingly well. She never sang to anyone else, never even closeby. It wasn’t that she was insecure, she simply didn't want to share it with anyone.   
She had left her husband’s chamber shortly after receiving her ‘reward’, which she’d enjoyed more than she should have. Her humming stopped when she dropped the brush and it hit her thigh. She winced in pain and lifted her dress up. There were several red marks on both her thighs.  
“My Lady!” Lisha exclaimed when she opened the door and found Lenore all worn out.  
“Good day, Lisha,” she croaxed.  
“What happened to your legs!?” She threw the tray with rags and cleaning supplies aside and dropped to her knees next to her lady.  
“Don’t fret, Lisha. It’s not as bad as it looks.”   
“He’s beating you! That’s bad enough for me!”   
“Well… Not exactly.”  
“Then what? Don’t lie to me, my Lady.”   
“It was sort of… a game…”   
“What kind of sick game is that? Is he one of those men who enjoy hurting women during- during- you know?”  
“I’m not quite sure yet, but something like that…” Lenore gave the weakest of smiles.  
“He’s just like his brother! I’ve heard the foulest stories of what the Mountain does to women - whores - in bed. And now I have proof, the Hound is the same! Let me put some salve on it,” she urged and went to fetch the lotions on the bedside table.   
“He’s not like his brother. I’m scared of his brother.”   
“But not of the Hound? Doesn’t this hurt? Is there more?”  
“Lisha, I agreed to it,” Lenore said and Lisha was quiet.   
“Why?” she asked after a while.  
“It was different. New. Kind of exciting actually. He gave me a reward after.”   
“What sort of reward?” Lenore blushed. It was embarrassing, but as Lisha rubbed lotion on the welts, Lenore told her everything. After all, she trusted Lisha, and ladies loved to gossip, even Lenore.

For three days, Lenore left her chamber as little as possible. She didn’t want to speak to her husband, to Petyr, to the queen, or anyone else except Lisha. Unfortunately Petyr had insisted on visiting once a day.  
“I think your husband is getting quite lonely without you, Lenore,” he said the third afternoon.  
“What makes you think that?”  
“Well, yesterday when he got off his duty, he came to my brothel. He violated sweet Marei,” Petyr went on, as if he thought she’d care. For some reason, she did. It wasn’t jealousy, just the feeling that he chose her out of all the whores.  
“Marei isn’t sweet, she’s a cunt.”  
“Are you jealous?”   
“Only of her ability to slap people.”   
“Oh, Lenore, that was long ago. She’s a sweet girl.”   
“She’s not! I told her she should probably change into a clean dress since hers was soaked in cum and sweat, so she hit me in the face!” Lenore laughed faintly at the memory. “If you see the Hound in your brothel again, tell him to take her arsehole next time.” Littlefinger chuckled at her comment.  
“Tomorrow I expect you out of your chamber.”  
“Don’t,” she muttered and Petyr grabbed her face.  
“People are beginning to talk. You need to show them that you’re strong. You are. You’re not a weak girl who hides away the second something doesn’t go your way.”   
“The second something doesn’t go my way!?” she shouted and pulled away from Petyr, “if that was the case I’d have hid away since I was four! I’ve been strong. I’ve been strong for years, now I’m done. Fuck this place, fuck the queen and her rules, fuck you and fuck the Hound.”  
“Yes, that is your duty as his wife, you should fuck him and give him children.” Lenore was raging with fury. She was a woman, Littlefinger had no right to control her anymore.  
“I’m not one of your whores, you can’t command me and tell me who to fuck! Get out of my chamber!” she shouted and Petyr backed away.  
“I will see you tomorrow, you will lunch with me and Varys. And then you  _ will  _ go back to your husband. I won’t have you disgrace me.” Lenore nodded reluctantly.  
Sandor Clegane stood by the king after the cow shit incident, minding his own business when Petyr Baelish approached him.  
“Your wife has a message for you. She asks that you take Marei’s arsehole next time you come to my brothel.” The king laughed out loud at his statement, while Sandor just raised his eyebrow. Baelish bowed slightly to the king before he walked away. His wife wanted him to fuck whores? He wondered. She who seemed so eager to fuck him, he’d have expected her to want exclusive rights. Foolish thought really, he decided. He hadn’t thought a lot about his wife these last days. He’d noted her absence and missed her cunt, so when she didn’t show up to fuck, he’d decided that the brothel was the better idea. He had quite a bit of money, which he usually spent on drinks and whores. He found himself with a bit more money since he got married. He didn’t spend it on much else. Once or twice he bought a new tunic or a pair of breeches when his were ruined in a fight, but that was a rare thing, he’d usually killed most men before they had a chance to get close to ruining his clothes. The polishing of his armour was taken care of by the crown, since he was kingsguard, and he sharpened his steel himself.  
Coming to think about it, he did miss Lenore a little. Since he’d fucked her, he’d grown to love the real moans, and the sounds and faces she made when he was rough with her. He wanted to finger fuck her with his gloves on again, hear her pained whimpers and see her tear filled eyes. He shook the thoughts away when he felt his cock twitch. He took one look at the evil king and his cock instantly softened again. He hated that little cunt. He had been loyal to king Robert, and had actually felt a sense of honour serving him. But Joffrey? No, Joffrey he served for gold only. And for his life. He imagined that if he left his service now, he wouldn’t get very far before someone beheaded him. Or at least tried to. If Lenore didn’t show her face today, he  _ would  _ go back to the brothel and take that whore - Marei was her name apparently - in the arse.  
“Come on, Dog,” the king commanded, snapping him out of his thoughts, and they left.  
Lenore finally left her chamber that day, she threw on a blue cotton dress with a silver belt and made two small rope braids that met on the back of her head. It was considered rude to wear your hair out in the presence of royals, therefore all the ladies were very careful with their southern updos. Lenore mostly liked simple styles, and if she was to do anything fancy, she’d let Lisha do it for her. It was a busy day today for many people, it seemed. As Lenore walked the halls she overheard why. Someone had thrown cow shit in the king’s face. She wanted to laugh out loud, that was amazing.  
She spotted Sansa Stark sitting on a bench, her hair quite messy and a sad look on her face.  
“Lady Sansa,” Lenore greeted as she approached her.  
“Lady Lenore,” the young redhead greeted back.  
“What’s happened to you, my lady? You look like you’ve seen better days,” Lenore asked carefully. Sansa looked at her with a face of insecurity.  
“I probably shouldn’t say.”  
“You can trust me, I promise. I only want your best.” And she truly did. She’d spoken to lady Sansa a few times before. They had some things in common, they both knew it, but they didn’t speak much of it. Too many ears everywhere.  
“I-I was attacked by a mob when I was out with His Grace and his people, seeing off princess Myrcella. I thought they’d kill me.”   
“That’s terrible, are you alright?” she asked and put her hand on Sansa’s shoulder, stroking it with her thumb.  
“I am. Your husband saved me,” she said, and it shocked Lenore. “He was very brave, you must feel lucky you have him by your side,” Sansa went on, and she scoffed.  
“Lucky? Killing and drinking is the only thing he’s good at.” Well, he was very good at fucking too, but she didn’t mention that, it was too vulgar, and Sansa was but a child still. Though they were close to the same age, just two years apart, she thought Sansa more of a child than herself, not in a bad way, it was just the way it was. Sansa was more vulnerable, more fragile and pure.   
“That is true, I suppose. But he is still brave.” Lenore shrugged.  
“I suppose he is,” she looked into the distance, wondering. Why had he saved her? Did he care? She thought he didn’t care about anyone, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe there was some humanity in him after all. She and Sansa talked for about an hour, and soon the topics grew happier and less gruesome. When they parted, they both were in better moods.  
The sun was setting and Lenore figured that Clegane was probably off his duty now, so she walked to his chamber. She knocked, but no one answered, so she entered. It was empty, he wasn’t there. Maybe he had to stay longer by the king today after the attack. It had been quite brutal according to Sansa. Lenore poured herself a glass of wine, took some grapes from the tray on the table and sat down on the bed, resting against the headboard. She didn’t like the idea of her husband fucking whores. She’d always imagined that if she married, she’d be in a loyal relationship. All the marriages where the wives were miserable and the men fucked whores made her sick. It was disrespectful, and Lenore wanted to be respected.  
  
The Hound bowed slightly when he finally left his post that night. It was past dinner time, and he was hungry and horny. Bloody mob had to throw shit at the king. Sandor didn’t care about the king, only about himself right now. He had no interest in prolonging his shift by the boy king. With heavy steps he walked to his chamber. When he found the door left ajar he grabbed the handle of his sword, but when he opened the door, he was faced with his wife sitting on his bed.  
“Good evening, husband,” she greeted.   
“The Seven Hells are you doing here?” he muttered and began taking off his armour. He was sore and all he wanted was food, wine, a fuck and a bath. He smelled of blood and sweat.  
“Nice to see you too… I heard about the attack,” Lenore said, and her tone wasn’t angry or distasteful, it was as if she was interested.  
“Aye, fucking cunts.” He threw the last of his armour on the floor and poured himself a cup of wine. He sat down on the foot end of his bed, facing the little lady Lenore. She looked worn out and tired, but still beautiful.  
“Where’ve you been these last days?” he asked. Lenore thought for a little bit.  
“Recovering,” she replied and stood up. She went to leave her cup on the table, then walked back to the foot end. The Hound turned around so his feet were on the ground instead of the bed, and he looked at her. There was something hidden in her eyes, and he wanted to figure it out.  
“I also heard,” she spoke softly as she slowly moved to straddle him, ”that you visited my uncle’s brothel last night.” The Hound put his hands on her waist, he’d missed the feel of it.  
“Aye, I did.”  
“Was she good?”  
“She’s a whore, what do you think?”   
“I  _ know  _ she’s good.”  
“But not as good as you.” He grinned grimly and was about to kiss her, but she pulled away and put her finger on his lips.  
“You won’t do it again,” she said calmly but firmly.  
“And why’s that, is my little lady getting jealous?”  
“No. But it’s humiliating. I won’t tolerate being humiliated by people. I won’t have them gossipping about how I can’t please you, or how you grew bored with me so shortly after we married.”   
“_Bored_ of you?" the Hound spat. "I only went to the brothel because you weren’t around.”   
“I know that, but they don’t. I was humiliated the day I was brought in front of the king in nothing but my nightgown, when I had to admit that I fucked his Hound and enjoyed it, as was I the day we wed. But from now on, I refuse to be humiliated by anyone. You won’t fuck another whore for as long as we’re married. You will be loyal to me.” The Hound just looked at her, and she thought she saw a glimpse of wonder in his eyes.  
“You’re making commands now? You’re growing fierce.”  
“I’ve always been fierce.” She grinded into him and lowered her lips to his, almost touching them.  
Seven hells, Sandor just wanted to flip them over and push her into the mattress. He wanted to fuck her like an animal, but he restrained himself. He wanted to see where she was going with this. Her breath smelled of wine when she breathed close to him. She stared into his eyes with her bright ones. Sandor liked her eyes. And her full lips. She had an amazing body, gorgeous arse and tits, but it was still her eyes he liked best about her. Her lashes were dark as a contrast to her eyes. He didn’t understand how her hair could be so dark when she was so light. She lowered her lips and kissed his cheek.  __ The scarred one.  
Lenore looked into Sandor’s eyes after kissing his burned cheek. He was taken aback and looked surprised.  
“I don’t mind it, you know. Your face,” she said softly.  
“How can you not?” She shrugged.  
“It’s horrifying, but I’ve gotten used to it. I think it makes you look rugged. I like it. And I know the story behind it…” she admitted and Sandor felt a little ashamed. He’d have preferred it if she thought he got them in a fight. She brought her hand to his hair and ran it through it, grazing his burns as she moved further down. She stroked his shoulder and his arm, then brought his hand up to her face. He let it rest against her warm cheek.  
“I like the feel of your hands,” she whispered.  
“You’re insane,” he whispered back and she kissed him deeply. When she pulled away he noticed her blushing.  
“What is it, girl?” he asked.  
“I, uhh… I wondered if you would do that thing again… you know.”  
He knew exactly what she meant, but wanted to hear her say it.  
“No, what thing?” he asked and a smile played at the corner of his lips.  
“With your tongue.” She blushed even more and looked down at his chest. He lifted her face to look at him again.  
“What thing with my tongue?”   
“You know what I mean, don’t be evil.”  
“I want you to say it.”  
“I… I want you to lick me again, down there.”   
“Where?” his voice deepened.   
“My cunt, Sandor, stop it!” she groaned and slapped his arm lightly. He chuckled and nodded, then stood up and laid her back on the bed. He undid the buttons of her blue dress and she helped him unclasp the belt from her back. In a swift motion he pulled the dress aside and to his enjoyment, she wasn’t wearing any undergarments.  
“Naughty,” he said.  
“Not at all, I just didn’t want them ruined again,” she snickered. Sandor gave her a long lick from the very base to the very top of her pink cunt, and then nibbled on her clit. He spread her open and licked her again, sucked on her lips and flicked her little nub lightly with his finger, and each time she gave a small but high pitched whimper. He even used his teeth to graze it with, and every now and then he pulled away to bite her thighs, but when he did, he made sure not to leave her cunt unattended, but rubbed her with his rough fingers.  
“Oh fuck-” she burst out when bit the soft skin above her clit, then moaned when he began circling it.  
“How did you… ahh… learn this?” she panted. He pulled his face away from her wet cunt.  
“Long ago,” he mumbled and his warm breath met her, “there was a girl who taught me.” Lenore mentally thanked that girl when Sandor pressed his mouth to her and sucked. He went on pleasing her and soon she wanted more. She scooted backwards and sat up.  
“Fuck me,” she demanded, her voice short of breath. Sandor wiped his mouth with his hand and stared at her with hungry eyes.  
“No,” he said, “I’m gonna finish you off like this.” He pulled her back down all the way to the end of his bed, and kneeled down on the floor. He removed his shirt and threw it on the floor next to him. The black haired girl was taken aback but didn’t say anything, she let him have his way with her. He spread her cunt lips and blew cold air on her clit, and she let out a surprised gasp.   
Lenore cried out when Sandor, without warning, pounded his fingers into her, and she’d never felt something so wonderful as when he pleasured her both with his tongue and fingers. She didn’t know anything could make her feel like this. Gods damn this man, this Hound, how angry he could make her only to later have her moan like a whore paid in gold. He kept lapping up her juices as he finger fucked her hard, and her legs quivered when she felt herself tensing, that hot and boiling, yet cold feeling in her abdomen. Sandor noticed and grabbed her thigh harder, slapping it lightly but repeatedly. He growled when he pressed his tongue into her and then he felt her cumming. Her voice was trembling when she moaned loudly and reached her hands down to grab his hair. She softly tugged at it and sighed when she calmed down. Sandor gave her another deep kiss on her cunt lips before he stood up. Her chest heaved up and down when she breathed heavily and he smirked.  
“You like that, girl?” he asked, and Lenore nodded and breathed something like ‘uh-huh’.  
“Come return the favour, sweet girl,” he growled and grabbed her arms to drag her up. He brought her head to his crotch and she planted a kiss on it.   
“Go on, take them off,” he urged.  
“I’m not going to suck your cock, Clegane.”   
“I ate your cunt, you should return the favour.”   
“If you want to get off, you can fuck me, because I will not take your cock in my mouth.”   
“You’re not very ladylike with that language, you know.” Lenore grinned.  
“You like that, don’t you? Bet you don’t want a high born, stuck up, prude lady. You love my dirty mouth and eager cunny.”   
“Aye, little girl, I do.” He grabbed her hair in both hands and pressed her face against his abdomen. She put her hands on his hips and nuzzled her face into him, kissing her way through his happy trail, then ran her finger over it.  
“You know, when I first came to you, I expected you to be a lot hairier,” she grinned.  
“Aye, had a whore tell me that too once,” he laughed back, “would you have liked that?”  
“I like you.”  
“Do you, now?” he asked and lifted her face up to look at him.  
“No, not really. But I like fucking you,” she said and immediately he grabbed her legs and threw her backwards onto the white pillows, and climbed on top of her. He brought her hands to his breeches.  
“Take them off,” he commanded again and Lenore still smiled and bit her lip as she untied his brown breeches. He was hard as a rock and ready to fuck her senseless. He took her left breast in his mouth and sucked on her nipple before he pushed himself inside her, earning a pleased moan. He placed some sloppy kisses down her neck and collarbones as he thrust into her again, speeding his pace up. Lenore grabbed onto his shoulders and lifted her legs up to wrap them around his hips. Sandor buried his face in her neck and she felt his sweat on her skin. She closed her eyes and savoured the long strokes of The Hound’s cock inside her. Their moaning and grunting mixed together with the sound of skin slapping against skin brought them both close to the edge, and suddenly, Lenore used all her force to turn around so she was straddling him again. She put her hands on his chest and arched her back as she began bouncing up and down his big cock.  
He grinned with content and dug his nails into her hips, and she hissed in pain. She rode him faster and faster until his grip tightened and he let himself go inside her with a loud groan. With the feel of his hot cum shooting up inside her, she tilted her head back and came for him a second time. She was close to shouting out his name but she was too proud for that, so she bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood.  
She sighed and slipped off of him, laid down and draped herself over Sandor’s large, warm, sweaty body, and rested her head on his chest. The were both panting. It was strange to lay in his arms, the way she was now. She liked him, yet she also hated him.   
“Are all men this… good?” she asked shyly when they’d both caught their breath. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him.  
“Don’t know, never been with one.” He grinned faintly and Lenore laughed.  
“I suppose I’ve just never… enjoyed anyone else.”   
“And you won’t, either.”   
“I can live with that,” she said and yawned. Minutes later she was asleep.  
The following morning, Lenore woke up before The Hound. She yawned and sat up. To her horror, she looked down on the pillow she’d slept on and saw a black stain on it.  
“Fuck,” she whispered and rushed up to look for a mirror. Didn’t he have a mirror in here!? She grabbed her dress and threw it on, gathered all her hair and tied it in a braid, then she hurried back to her chamber and jumped under the bed.  
“Where is it!?” she panicked when she didn’t find the jar with hair dye. “Noo, no no no no no, fuck!” she cursed. It must have been the sweat from yesterday that made the colour come off. That was the danger of having to dye your hair, any sort of liquid could ruin it. She opened her wardrobe and changed into a dress with a hood on. She had to find Petyr.   


Sandor Clegane woke up cold. The heat from yesterday meant they didn’t need the duvet, but Lenore had left, so now it was cold.  
“The fuck did she go?” he muttered to himself. He sat up and cracked his back, neck and fingers. He groaned to himself and looked at Lenore’s bed side.  _ Wait, Lenore’s bed side? Did she have a side in his bed now?  _ Then he noticed the black stain on her pillow. The fuck was that? The fuck was everything this morning? He leaned down to smell the stain. It had a weird smell, like lizard and apples as well as vanilla. He knew that some women would dye their hair with a mix concocted from boiling lizards and oak apples. And Lenore’s hair always smelled of vanilla oil. The Baelishes always had dark hair, he knew that, so why would she dye it? He’d ask her about it later, he decided.  
After the damned mob “attack” yesterday, the queen had demanded him on guard duty today again, when it was supposed to be his day off. He cursed them. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to work all too late. He went to his wash basin and splashed some water and his sage essence on himself to get the smell off him. He grunted his way into his armour, secured all his belts and shit, then left to take his place at court.  
Twice during his day he saw Lenore. She was walking around like a lost girl in a forest, looking for someone. Sandor smirked at the sight, but an uneasy feeling spread through his gut when the queen called her forward. Lenore looked down at the floor and she looked downright miserable. He tried to overhear what they were whispering about, but they were too quiet. Cersei nodded her head in one direction and Lenore hurried away. The queen raised an eyebrow and shook her head slightly. She pretended to like Lenore, and Lenore pretended to like her back. Sandor sighed.  _ Women.   
_

“Petyr!” Lenore shouted as she burst into the brothel. He didn’t show up, only Ros did.  
“Lenore, good day,” she smiled. Ros was wearing a pink v-lined dress and looked stunning as usual.  
“Good day, Northie,” she greeted back and kissed Ros’ cheek.  
“What brings you here?”  
“I need to speak to Petyr, do you know where I can find him?”   
“Oh, yes, he’s in a meeting with some of the girls, he-” Lenore’s hood flew off when a wind blew in. “What is up with your hair?” she asked.  
“Oh, it looks brown in some lights…” Lenore said and pulled the hood back up, “you were saying?”  
“He’ll be out soon, you can wait in the lounge…” Ros said and she looked slightly suspicious.  _ Seven hells _ , Lenore thought.  
“Ros said you were looking for me?” Petyr said when he approached her.  
“Yes. I need more dye. I’m out.”   
“What do you mean you’re out?”   
“I went to my chamber and couldn’t find it!” she exclaimed and Petyr squinted his eyes at her.  
“I recall you having a half jar left just a few days ago. Do you mean to say you’ve  _ lost  _ it?” he grabbed her wrist and pulled her along into one of the private rooms.   
“I couldn’t have! No one’s been in my chamber except you, me and Lisha, and she doesn’t know.”  
“Oh, you sweet, naive girl,” Petyr drawled in that tone that made Lenore shiver with disgust.  
“I need more, do you have any?”   
“No! It will take another day to get a refill, the woman is a slow cook.”   
“You’ll have to force her then! Or else I’ll just tell anyone the truth.”   
“If you do that you’ll die.”   
“Cersei can’t kill me, she needs me.”  
“Which makes her angry, she already wants you dead. But I wasn’t talking about the queen. Joffrey won’t be happy if he finds out.”   
“He won’t find out. Because you will make sure I have a refill by tonight. Do you understand?” she sneered and pulled her arm away. A sense of power flooded through her, she’d never demanded something of Petyr in that way before.   
“How bad is it?” he asked and removed her hood. Her usual black hair was brown, the colour was fading, with some lighter parts here and there. Petyr sighed. “You’re an irresponsible woman. But I will get more, stay in your chamber. And lunch is cancelled.”   
“Thank you,” Lenore curtsied, pulled her hood back up and retreated to her chamber. She searched every inch for the jar, she couldn’t understand where it had gone.  
As the day turned to evening, Lenore heard the familiar knock on her door. She opened it and Petyr entered.   
“Samara wasn’t happy with the short notice. She said it will be weaker and won’t last as long, so be careful when you apply it. She will make another jar within two days, so don’t ruin this or I will be very angry.” He left her chamber as soon as he was done talking.  
Lenore sighed as she washed the colour out to apply the new one. She looked up at herself in the mirror. A pale girl with blue eyes and wet blonde, almost white hair looked back at her. She opened the jar and suddenly someone knocked on her door.  
“Who is it?” she called.  
“Your husband.” Lenore’s eyes widened.  
“You can’t come in!”  
“Yes, I can,” he said and as the door opened she hid her hair and face in a large cloth. His brows - well, one brow and one brow bone - furrowed.  
“The hell you doing, girl?”  
“You need to leave. Now,” she commanded sternly.  
“I don’t think I will.” He lowered his voice and shut the door, “what are you doing hiding your pretty face in there? And what’s this?” He picked up the jar of hair dye and smelled it, frowning at the strong scent.  
“Put that down and leave!” Lenore shouted.  
“Take that off.”   
“No.”  
“As your husband I order you to remove that cloth.”   
“You don’t command me!” Sandor’s patience treated and he grabbed the grey fabric and pulled it off of her, and she screamed. A silver haired girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes. Sandor took a step back.  
“You’re a bloody Targaryen,” he breathed. Lenore sniffled and nodded. “I’m married to a dragon girl?” She nodded again and looked down. “What the hell are you doing here then?”   
“I shouldn’t tell.”   
“Piss on that,” Sandor said and sat down on her table, which creaked miserably, “I won’t tell anyone.”   
“They took me when I was a child of two. They made me dye my hair and pose as Littlefinger’s niece.”   
“Why?” was all he could say.  
“They figured if my brother or sister would ever rise to power, they could use me against them.”   
“Your brother or sister?”  
“Viserys and Daenerys. Viserys is dead, but my sister isn’t. I hope it’s true what they say about her dragons.”  
“You’re a bloody Targaryen,” he repeated, “who knows?”  
“The queen, Littlefinger obviously. Tyrion, Varys and Tywin.”   
“Not Joffrey?”   
“They’d never tell him, he’d kill me immediately. He’s not very strategic.”   
“Not very smart either. Were you planning on hiding this from me forever?”  
“If the Lannister-Baratheons kept ruling, yes. If my sister would take the throne, no. If I managed to escape… Depends on what would happen to me.” Sandor grabbed a lock of her damp hair and traced it. He looked fascinated and a little creeped out at the same time.  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  
“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong. The queen did.”  
Sandor assisted her in dying her hair, he’d never touched a woman’s hair in that way before. He usually just pulled and tugged at it. Now he was actually feeling its softness.  
“Beautiful,” he mumbled.  
“What?” Lenore asked and looked at him.   
“Nothing.” But she’d heard what he said, and she smiled.


	7. Grand Maester

“You snore…” Lenore groaned when she woke up next to the big beast.  
“Get used to it,” he mumbled back and turned around to kiss her, a wet kiss which she returned with passion. She’d grown fond of his kisses lately. A small shiver travelled down her spine and she nuzzled her face in his chest. Since they got married, she found herself less scared to walk the corridors alone. She figured that no one would want to anger the Hound by hurting his wife. Not that they were overly fond of each other, but people wouldn’t want to risk it. Actually, coming to think about it, Lenore  _ had  _ grown a little fond of her husband. Not a lot, just a little. Something stirred in her stomach, a feeling of unease. Lenore wondered, was she pregnant? Her heart rate quickened when she thought about it. That was the last thing she wanted right now.  
“Sandor?” she looked at him with big eyes.  
“What?”  
“I want to see Grand Maester Pycelle.”   
“Why the hell would you want to do that? That’s crazier than wanting to fuck me.”   
“Shut up, don’t do that with me right now. What if I’m pregnant?”  
Sandor’s mind went blank for a second. He hadn’t really thought much about that. He was still kingsguard and therefore not allowed to father children. What would happen if she was in fact pregnant? Would the king let him father the child? Or would he... kill it?  
“Sandor!” Lenore nudged his arm and brought his focus back.  
“I don’t know.”   
“Great answer, thank you,” she snapped and sat up, but Sandor grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him. She sighed loudly.  
“How am I supposed to know?” he asked and his wife was silent for a while.  
“You wouldn’t, I just wish you’d know.”  
“I suppose it would be up to the king,” Sandor mumbled, watching Lenore’s face of fear. Did she want to have his babies? He wondered. Nah, that wasn’t it. He thought about what she’d told him about her previous sexual encounters. She’d never gotten pregnant before, despite having been raped multiple times.  
“When you were raped…” he started, watching her face to read her expression, “had you, uh, had your blood?” he asked sheepishly.  
“Not the first two times, when Trant did it. But yes, I had my first blood by twelve. Ilyn Payne raped me when I was thirteen. Then the two other men when I was fourteen.”   
“So you’ve had three chances-”  
“Four. One of them did it twice.”  
“Four chances to get pregnant, but you haven’t. Maybe you won’t now either.” Lenore banged her head against the headboard.  
“I don’t want to have a child! I really don’t.”   
“Me neither.”   
“I swear to all the gods I’ll force Pycelle to give me moon tea if I am pregnant.”  
“Why would he deny you?”  
“I don’t know, I don’t like the man! He could do anything. I’m scared of him.”  
“I’ll go with you.” Lenore looked at her husband, surprised.  
“You will?”  
“‘Course I will, I want to know too, don’t I?” She nodded and pulled the duvet over herself. Right now she was distraught.   
Sandor and Lenore were sat in Pycelle’s room.  
“W-what is your concern, my Lady?” he asked. Lenore stood up and wandered around the bed cautiously, she was so nervous.  
“I wonder if you think I’m with child.”  
“Oh,” Pycelle smiled and walked over to one of the shelves, picked up some powders and potions then returned to Lenore.   
“You may lie down here, my Lady.” She obeyed and lay down on the hard bed.  
“If you would pull your gown up, please.”  
Sandor clenched his fists. Pycelle wanted her to undress? Of course he did. Luckily, his wife had been clever and put on some undergarments. Pycelle rubbed something quite smelly on her stomach, he felt her and squeezed here and there, then hummed to himself.  
“Speak up, Pycelle, or are you just planning on fondling my wife all day?” Sandor snapped. He cared for her in some way. She’d been raped before, and Sandor didn’t want her to have any flashbacks of it. She was still young and innocent - well, sort of innocent.  
“I-I-I… My Lady, you can sit.” Lenore sat up and wiped her belly. She looked at Pycelle with a grim face.  
“Yes? Am I pregnant?”  
“No, my Lady.”  
Sandor and Lenore both sighed with relief.  
“I am afraid you are unfit to bear children.”   
“What?” Lenore raised her eyebrows and chewed on the side of her lip. Sandor’s brows furrowed.  
“You seem to have, uhh, had an unfortunate experience… Your womb appears to be quite torn. Have you had any, ehh,” he coughed, “sexual encounters as a child? Forced, perhaps?”  
“Y-yes, I was raped when I was nine.”  
“Ahh… Such encounters can make the childbearing quite… difficult.”  
“Do you mean to say I can  _ never  _ have a child?”   
“I-I, uhh, yes. The possibility is very very small, likely to none.”   
“Thank you, grand maester,” Lenore said and nodded to Sandor, and they both left.   
“So… how was that to hear?” Sandor asked awkwardly. His wife bit her lower lip and stared into nowhere. When she looked at him, her expression was unreadable. Then she laughed out loud and threw herself around him. He was confused but put his hands on her shoulders and stroked them. She pulled away with a big smile.  
“I haven’t been this happy since I was born!” she exclaimed.   
“You never want to have children? Not even when you’re older?”  
“No. It’s one of my biggest fears.”   
“I give up on trying to understand you. I thought it was every woman’s dream to become a mother at some stage.”   
“Well, every woman isn’t married to you,” Lenore joked and nudged his arm. He chuckled.  
“So what do we do now?” he asked.   
“Now… I’m going to have a bath to wash off the nasty feeling of Pycelle’s hands on me,” she balanced on her tiptoes and pulled at Sandor’s arms so he’d hunch down to her length, “and I want you to join me in it, and not make a child,” she whispered and grinned.  
“Oh, do you really…” he growled in her ear.   


Lenore giggled when she got out of the bath.  
“Don’t look,” she joked as she slipped into her deep red bath robe. Sandor remained in the bath and eyed her every move.   
She moved gracefully with a small smile on her lips. She removed the clip she’d used to hold her hair up, and now he saw that it was the shape of dragonfly.  
“That some sort of hint at who you really are?”   
“Hm?”  
“The dragonfly clip.”  
“No, it’s just a gift I got from Lord Tyrion on my thirteenth name day.”   
“You said he knew about your heritage.”   
“Yes.”   
“Maybe he thought of it that way when he got it for you. A  _ dragon _ fly.” Lenore blinked and looked at the clip.   
“I never realised,” she mumbled, “I should wear it more often.”  
“You should. Do you think she will rise to power, your sister?” he asked and got out of the bath and wrapped a cloth around his hips.  
“I hope so. She seems pretty determined from what I’ve heard.”   
“It doesn’t make sense why Littlefinger would share the small council information about her with you. Wouldn’t that just sabotage his mission to keep you a Baelish?”   
“Oh, it’s not Littlefinger who tells me. It’s the spider.”   
“Varys? Why would he tell you?”  
“Why should I tell you? Your job is to protect the king, not collect information about enemies of the king that you could share with him.”   
“Do you honestly believe that I’d share anything you tell me with the king? My job is to save his life when I’m next to him. This sort of information is neither life threatening to him nor am I near him.”   
“You’re shit at your job,” Lenore laughed.  
“I’ve kept him alive so far, and a lot of people want him dead.”  
“True.”  
“Do you?”  
“Want him dead? Why are you asking all this, it sort of makes me think you  _ would  _ share it with the king.”   
“I won’t. I’m just curious.”  
“Curiosity killed the cat.”   
“Lucky for me I’m a dog,” he said and smacked her arse.  
“Hey!”   
“Let’s get something to eat. Some chicken.”  
“Alright. Can we practise sword fighting afterwards?”   
“We can.”  
Sandor had found two sparring swords that they used to practise, though he did think it rather ridiculous to use a blunt blade. For a few days, all they did was fight away the days and fuck away the nights. They’d moved onto a pair of heavier swords as Lenore’s skills improved. She often screamed when she attacked, and Sandor mocked her for it, calling her a screamer, taunting her about how easily he could make her scream. That in turn led Lenore to swing at him even harder. The screaming and fighting turned them both on so much they had no choice but to fuck even more. The longer they kept going, the more tired they grew each day.  
For the next four days, Sandor and Lenore barely saw each other, for Sandor was on duty and Lenore spent her days with Lisha, Varys, Sansa and Tyrion. Eventually, as Sandor got off his shift and had a few days off, he tracked Lenore down. She was in the garden, humming a tune to herself, watching the flowers.  _ Sometimes she was such a girl,  _ Sandor thought. He drew his knife and sneaked up on her, and in a swift motion, he grabbed her hair and held the dagger to her throat, and she screamed. Sandor laughed at her and put his knife back in his belt.  
“Damned be you, dog, you scared me!” she shouted as she stood up and crossed her arms.  
“You gonna fight me, girl?” he grinned.  
“I am. Let’s go get the blades.”   
“The blades?” he snorted, “they’re not edged, girl, you can’t call them blades.”  
“I’ll call them what I want, you don’t rule my mouth,” she retorted.  
“Oh, but I do,” he replied and placed a rough kiss on her lips, which she didn’t return.  “Pout all you want…” he grunted and they walked to his chamber to fetch the sparring swords.

Lenore wasn’t all too good at striking, but she was good at dodging hits. Her husband, despite the fact that he was playing nice with her, won every round by making her drop her sword, or by hitting a place on her body which she’d die from if it was a real sword. Lenore grew fiercer and fiercer, her body strengthened and her stamina improved. In the beginning, she’d have tired herself after only two rounds, now there was almost no stopping her. She soon began to find new bruises on her body, and wore them like a badge of honor. Although, she never let anyone see them but the Hound and Lisha. Petyr would disapprove and so would all the rest of the kingdom. Ladies shouldn’t fight with swords, they all said. But Lenore wanted to be able to defend herself if anyone should attack her, which wasn’t impossible. She and Sandor would sneak off to a rather hidden space to practise, so they would not be found.  
Her height also played an important part in her ability to defend herself, she was quite short. The Hound was used to fighting bigger men, but he quickly adjusted to striking at a shorter height. When Lenore managed to dodge several swings in a row, Sandor slapped her in the face with the back of his hand, so she lost her balance and fell to the ground with a thud. She grunted and looked up at him. Her lip was busted, she could feel blood trickling down her chin.   
“What was that for!?” she shouted angrily, but felt a spark between her legs the way she always did when he hurt her. She was truly strange.  
“You might find your attacker doing that when he tires of your dodging. You fight like a girl.”   
“I  _ am  _ a girl!”   
“A’ight, a coward then.” Lenore rose to her feet and licked her lips. She bit it on the same side she was bleeding and smiled at him.  “Ah, you’re joking… I know that look.”  
“Bet you do,” she whispered and moved closer to him. She leaned up and pulled at his arms the way she always did when she wanted a kiss. But this time, Sandor didn’t grant her her wish.  
“Stop that,” he said, pushed her away and raised his sword again.  
“Wow, you really do like killing more than fucking, don’t you?” she asked in a slightly disappointed, yet sultry tone.  
“Normally yes, but I like fucking you more than I like killing, and I can’t fuck you if you’re dead, so get your guard up. And strike back.”

Lenore lay panting on the ground when Sandor said they were done for the day. She was exhausted, sweaty and sore to her bones. Her hair was a mess and her clothes were dirty with mud and grass. Sandor sat down next to her and sighed.  
“Where’s the heart?” he asked and Lenore put her hand on her chest, right over her heart.  
“If you had a knife and a man attacked you, where would you hit him?”   
“If we’re on the same level, I’d stick him in the eye or gut. If he’s on a horse, I’d go or the balls. If we’re both on horses, I’m fucked.”   
“Why would you be fucked?”   
“I’d have to throw the knife at him, and I can’t aim,” she said bluntly. Sandor scoffed.  
“You can’t aim… Guess we gotta practise that too then.”  
“Not now, I be- no.”   
“Were you going to say ‘I beg’?”  
“No.”  
“Yes, you were,” he teased.   
“No, I wasn’t.”  
“You were.”   
“Was not!”  
“Were too.” Lenore flung herself from the ground and threw herself, roaring, around Sandor’s neck and tackled him to the ground. He gave a rumbling laugh and put his hands on her waist.  
“You still wanna fuck now, girl?”  
“No, I don’t. You’ve worn me out.”   
“You won’t have to do much,” he said with a smug grin as he began unlacing the breechers he’d bought for her. She sighed and rolled her eyes at him at first, but then smiled and let him continue.


	8. Two Dragons

Cersei’s mind games were too much. For almost an hour, Lenore had to withstand the queen’s smug smiles, fake smiles and fake sad faces. She’d asked her about married life, about children, and made some vague threats. Lenore spoke less and less every passing minute, with tears burning her eyes, but she bit them back. The queen wouldn’t see her cry. But the second she was dismissed, she ran to her chamber and did just that.  
Petyr knocked on the door and entered without an invitation.  
“My little Lenore…” he murmured and sat down next to her, “why are you crying?”  
“I’m not telling you.” She didn’t want to share any secrets with Littlefinger. She didn’t trust him with them.  
“I know you spoke with the queen. What did she want?”  
“She wanted me to tell you to go away.” Petyr chuckled and put his hand on Lenore’s knee.  
“You know… There was a girl once… she was unhappy. I did not know how to make her happy. I tried everything I knew, I asked maesters for help, but she only grew more and more unhappy. She isolated herself, and stopped being of use. Problem was, I needed her to be of use. She in turn, made me unhappy. She was a bad investment on my part. I hate bad investments… And one night, in her sleep, a man came to her, a man she loathed. He did unspeakable things to her until he grew bored of it, then he cut her throat. That made me happy again,” Petyr drawled and Lenore shuddered. Goosebumps formed on her skin and she stood up and shoved Littlefinger backwards with her new strength. He grabbed the pillar on the end of the bed to steady himself and avoid falling off.  
“Lenore, my dear…” he started but she cut him off.   
“Get. Out. Now,” she ordered and he did. Alone again, she let the tears fall. She was going to end up like that girl, she was sure of it. She was turning everyone against her it felt like, the queen, Baelish… so not everyone, but it was the start.  
Her face was buried in a pillow, so she didn’t notice anyone coming in until she felt someone sit down next to her. She turned around to see who the intruder was.  
“Varys,” she sniffled.  
“Hello, child.”   
“What are you doing here?”  
“Oh, I ran into Lord Baelish, he had a slightly, how should I put it,” he shifted in his seat, “offended look on his face. I assumed it had something to do with you.”   
“Why?”   
“I know you spoke with the queen, and I know Lord Baelish was here. I thought it might be worth paying you a visit. You seem to be popular this afternoon.” Lenore smiled a little and sat up and wiped her eyes with her silk tissue.  
“Who upset you, my child, the queen or Lord Baelish?”  
“Both, but mostly the queen.”   
“Do tell me what she did.”  
“She called me to a room and proceeded to ask me all these questions about my marriage, she asked if he’d put a pup in me yet, and I told her no, then she laughed and said Pycelle told her I can’t bear children and she mocked me! Then she said Sandor would be bored with me soon enough, and told me he’d go back to brothels and whores, she- she-” Lenore burst into tears again and fell into Varys’ warm embrace. He stroked her back and hushed her. Despite being the sneakiest spider in all the seven kingdoms, she trusted him. He’d always been good to her and never told anyone what she entrusted him.  
“Do you remember the two dragons?” he asked quietly, still rocking her back and forth in his arms. She nodded.  
“The little one, Laenerys, she’d always steal Varyon’s meat. Varyon never did anything about it, he cared for the baby dragon. He could always find new food. But one day, there was no food on Varyon’s grounds. He roared and screamed, desperate and hungry he cried out so loud, all of Westeros could hear him. Varyon took wing and was about to burn a city to the ground to find food, when he heard a cry, or rather a squeal. He looked down and found his precious Laenerys on his grounds, with a dead cow in front of her. She tried to screech like Varyon, but all that came out was a high pitched noise. Varyon landed again and looked at the dragon babe. She nudged the cow in his direction. It was her first kill. And she wanted him to have it. Varyon had never been happier.” When Varys had finished his story, Lenore had forgotten all about the queen. She loved Varys’ stories, especially the dragon ones.  
“Thank you,” she said and hugged him tightly.  
“Always my pleasure, precious child.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “One of my little birds told me something peculiar a couple of days ago,” he continued.  
“What was that?”  
“Well… It seems you have been developing a new skill. I’m told you have been sword fighting with your husband.”   
“Someone saw us? You don’t think they’ll tell anyone else, do you?”  
“No, my child,” Varys ensured her, “how come you’ve gotten into that?”   
“I want to be able to defend myself. I never want to be raped again, and now I won’t,” her voice was stubborn and it made Varys smile.  
“You’re growing into a true dragon,” he said, “the Targaryens were always fierce and stubborn. They want what is theirs and won’t let anyone steal it from them.”   
“Fire and blood,” Lenore cooed.  
“Fire and blood,” Varys repeated.

Lenore was feeling lonely this day, despite Varys’ pleasant visit. The minute he had left, she had sighed again and the anxiety crept up on her, little by little. Lisha was gone too, she was to attend her brother’s wedding, so she was heading to the Estrens in the Westerlands. They were loyal to house Lannister, therefore Lisha had been sent to King’s landing, while her older brother remained in the Westerlands in the search for a wife. Now he had found one, Carellen of house Smallwood, she was a good dancer and singer, Lisha had said.  
In her loneliness, Lenore patched up two dresses that had been ruined. They’d been lying in a chest for moons without being tended to. She’d never bothered Lisha with them, either. It was one green dress made of silk, and one blue velvet dress. They were no favourites of hers, but they were still pretty. She thought she’d take time so finish her book, “Tales of the forest”, but the words seemed to switch places and gave her a headache, so that was no good. Instead, Lenore reflected on something the queen had said.  _ You ought to join your chamber with your husband’s.  _ She hadn’t ever considered that before, she was accustomed to having a chamber of her own. She had too many dresses and too much jewellery to move down to his chamber, and hers was in no good place for him to be.  _ Say the word and we shall find you two a suitable chamber, to fit both a man’s and a woman’s needs,  _ the queen regent had continued. Lenore hadn’t said the word, and she wasn’t planning to. As long as she had a choice, she would live in her own room. But she did get lonely on some nights, and this was one of them. She sighed and decided to get dinner.  
Two pieces of lamprey pie, a lemon cake and a cup of Dornish sour later, Lenore knocked on Clegane’s chamber door.  
“What?” he rasped in a foul voice.  
“It’s your wife,” Lenore said just as bitterly.  
“Enter.” The Hound was lying on his bed clad in brown breeches and a dark green tunic, and his hair hung over his closed eyes. Lenore laid down next to him.  
“What are you doing here?” he grumbled and blew his hair away from his eyes. He turned to look her, and Lenore thought she saw something hidden in his eyes, but said nothing of it.  
“I don’t know,” she confessed.  
“Then why’re you here?”   
“I’m lonely.”  
“And you want me to what, sing you song? Tell you about my day? Cradle you in my arms til you fall asleep?” He was being so rude, but Lenore didn’t want any of what he said.  
“No, I don’t want you to speak at all. I just want your warmth.”  
Sandor sighed. He wasn’t angry with the girl, he was just in a foul mood. Here she was, being sweet, and he mocked her.  _ Oh, but what does she expect of me?  _ he thought. He moved closer to her and smelled her vanilla hair. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the feel and smell of a woman next to him.  
“I suppose I could, uh-” he started, awkwardly but Lenore cut him off.   
“No, don’t speak,” she murmured quietly before shutting her eyes. Eventually they pulled the duvet over them and fell asleep, still in complete silence.  
Sandor was dressing when Lenore told him about the queen’s words yesterday.  
“I want to shit without a woman in the room,” he grunted when he fastened the belt and Lenore chuckled at his comment.  
“Then you tell her no.” The Hound snarled.  
“Why would I?”  
“Because I can’t stand talking to the woman, she tortures my damn mind,” Lenore exclaimed.  
“I’ll tell her then.”   
“Good, and mention the shitting, I’m sure her Grace will appreciate that,” she said, grinning. When Sandor was done with his mail and boots, he looked at her.  
“You know, most ladies would be uncomfortable if their husband talked about shitting in front of them.”  
“I don’t see the point in that, everyone does it. Ladies are often too sensitive. I think their septas teach them that way, which is ridiculous. ‘Oh you mustn’t dirty your dress, you mustn’t talk about inappropriate topics, you must always look presentable for your husband, never speak against him!’ Fuck that.”  
Sandor laughed at her.  
“You didn’t have a septa then, I take it?”  
“No. I was raised by Varys and Littlefinger mostly. Varys is half a lady already, and Littlefinger always told me to act ladylike. He’d sit and tell me sometimes, what a lady does and does not do. So did the queen. But Petyr also brought me to his brothel a few times, and the whores, oh the whores, they’re not clean anywhere, not even their language. I picked up traits from everywhere, whores, ladies and knights all the same.”  
“And the part about speaking against your husband?” he asked with a meaningful gaze.  
“You’re not better than me just because you have a cock dangling between your legs. Besides, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut if I tried.”  
“A stubborn Targaryen, raised by a brothel owner and a eunuch,” he laughed. He was finally done with his armour and fastened his sword and his knives where they went, then he sat down on the stool next to the bed where Lenore lay looking at the roof.  
“A Targaryen raised by the two biggest spy masters in Westeros,” she said.  
“Right, about that, how come the eunuch shares council information with you?” Sandor cracked his glove clad fingers and his neck while waiting for an answer. Lenore rolled onto her stomach, exposing her pale back to him.  
“Varys likes me. And my heritage. He trusts me as well, trusts that I’ll only make use of the information myself, and not share it. A promise I’ve fulfilled so far. He thinks it’s only right that I know of my sister’s - the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms - whereabouts.” When she finished speaking, Sandor’s brows furrowed.  
“If your sister was to die, that would make you the rightful ruler.”   
“I know.”  
“What the hell am I married to?” he asked, mostly to himself.  
“That’s why I’m glad she’s alive and older than me.”   
“You wouldn’t want to sit on the Iron Throne?” he asked.  
“No. Too high a risk of being killed, and too much responsibility. At least now I know I won’t die, I have the protection of the queen.”   
“Because she needs you.” Lenore nodded. “I heard Rhaella Targaryen died after birthing Denaerys,” he said, mispronouncing her name.  
“That’s what people think. Not many know about me, I don’t even know if my sister knows I’m alive. But no, Rhaella died birthing me…” she said sadly.  
Sandor felt awkward, he wasn’t used to talking about these things. He didn’t know how to comfort a lady or reply to her sad confessions about her life.  
“You don’t have to say anything,” Lenore said as if she knew what he was thinking.  
“I need to go, or else I’ll be late for my duty, and Joff won’t like that. His dog should be on time.”   
“You’ve saved his life repeatedly and yet he calls you dog.”   
“He also pays me, that evens things out. Besides, you call me dog too.”   
“Well, you don’t save my life or bring me your service.”  
“I do too, I fuck you better than any man ever has.”   
“That’s because every man I’ve been with has raped me.”   
“Alright, better than any man  _ could,  _ then,” he growled and placed a rough kiss on her shoulder. She gave him a girlish giggle and smiled.  
“Go on, dog, do your duty,” she said in a slightly seductive voice.  
“Aye, I will, and then I’ll do my duty to you,” he replied and bit her shoulder lightly, “and I’ll tell the queen I shit on her chamber suggestion.”  
“Good dog.”  
Lenore was having lunch with Lord Tyrion in a lusthouse in the garden this day, pigeon pie and roasted potatoes.  
“There’s a war coming, you know,” Tyrion said in between bites. Lenore had only heard whispers about it. Stannis Baratheon wanted to take King’s Landing and the throne.  
“What do you know about it?” she asked.  
“Well,” Tyrion put his fork down and emptied his wine cup. He held out his hand and his squire, Podrick Payne, refilled it. “Stannis supposedly has a red priestess, or a witch, depending on how you see things, whispering commands in his ear. They say a shadow with his face killed Renly, so he has Renly’s men as well as his own. And they say Stannis has about two hundred ships.”   
“That’s more than we do,” said Lenore.   
“Oh, yes, they outnumber us ten to one! His troops outnumber ours as well, five to one. About twenty thousand are being said to attack us, but that might he a false trail, he may take more.”  
“We’re going to lose.”   
“Most likely,” Tyrion said and emptied yet another cup of wine, refilled just as quickly, “we have eight hundred sellswords, gods know if they’ll fight or flight, four thousand ill-trained and poorly disciplined gold cloaks, seven thousand troops and three hundred knights. As for the gold cloaks, I think your husband will kill more men than all of them together.”  
Lenore laughed and took a sip of wine. She both did and didn’t want them to lose. Stannis was Robert’s rightful heir, though still a usurper, but he would probably make a better king than Joffrey, it wasn’t a very hard mission. On the other hand, she didn’t want all of King’s Landing’s women to be raped and killed, and she didn’t want Stannis nor his men here.  
Podrick soon returned with honey cakes and candied almonds. Tyrion stuffed a handful of almonds in his mouth and swallowed them before asking:  
“Let us speak about something more friendly. What did you think of the wine, my Lady?”  
“Oh, it’s quite good. Different, is it imported from somewhere?”   
“It’s blackberry wine from Essos!” He looked very pleased with himself as he said it.  
“It’s very good. Do you think you could have a flagon of it sent to my chamber?”   
“Why, of course, my Lady. Your chamber or your husband’s?” he asked and she frowned.  
“Clearly, since I said  _ my  _ chamber, I meant mine,” she muttered.   
“Forgive me if you took offence, I meant none,” Tyrion explained. It wasn’t a horrible thing to say, Lenore was just so sick of the chamber talk.  
“No, that’s quite alright, it’s just that the queen regent pestered me about joining chambers with him yesterday.”   
“Ahh, I see. Yes, that would of course be expected, but not necessary! How are you finding married life? I’m only asking out of curiosity.”  
Lenore sighed and chewed down some candied almonds, washing them down with the sweet wine.  
“I’m not sure, to be honest. It’s very frustrating at times, but it’s better than I first expected.”   
“How so?”  
“I thought he was going to beat me and be controlling like I know many husbands are, but he’s not. We fought a  _ lot  _ in the beginning though. But he lets me live my own life and I’m not afraid to speak my mind with him.”   
“Ah, I imagine that would be quite a deal breaker for you, not being able to speak freely… Tell me,” he leaned in closer to her, “how is he… sexually?” Tyron asked with a grin, making Lenore blush a little. He nudged her arm before leaning back in his seat. “Come ooon, tell me!” he urged.  
“Alright, alright! He’s quite good. Very good, actually.”   
“ _ Really _ ? I always imagined he’d be quite a brute…”   
“He is,” Lenore said and smiled shyly.  
“Oh, but my Lady!” Tyrion exclaimed with a mock aghast face. “I didn’t know you liked that!”  
“Neither did I until he fucked me.”   
“Oh, but my Lady!” he exclaimed again, “Mind your tongue!”   
“Stop it, Tyrion, you’re starting to scare me,” Lenore laughed at the dwarf’s jesting.  
“Alright, I’ll be a good boy,” he grinned and clasped his fingers together. “But tell me… what is the Hound like? Give me details!”  
“You are such a little creeper.”  
“No point in denying that, my fair. So, speak up! What does he do that’s so good it makes lady Lenore swoon?”   
“I’m not swooning, you cunt. He just… He’s exciting, and he touches just the right spots, he… we both have a tendency to want to fuck whenever we get angry or fight,” she confessed and the dwarf laughed.  
“I guess that makes for a lot of fucking then.”   
“You can’t imagine…” she said with a sly grin. Tyrion interrogated Lenore about all details and she gave them away, slightly reluctantly.  
When he was done, he looked at her curiously.  
“What?”  
“You’re growing up,” he said.  
“I suppose I am.”  
“You’re a really beautiful girl, Lenore, and I hope you know you can come to me with anything,” he was suddenly serious, “and if your husband was to ever hurt you, I want you to tell me.”   
“What good would you be against the Hound?” she teased.   
“I am quite the fighter, you know!” Lenore laughed out loud. “Would you stop laughing at me, I’m trying to look out for you,” he said and she took his hands in her own.   
“Thank you, Tyrion. I really appreciate it.”   
“I care about you a lot,” he squeezed her hands a little.  
“I care about you a lot too,” she replied.

Lenore found a flagon of that sweet blackberry wine in her chamber as soon as she returned. She was in a good mood today after her lunch with Tyrion. She remembered the dragonfly clip he’d given her, she never had a chance to ask him whether it had anything to do with her heritage or not, since there was always someone around to hear. Lazily she sat down on her bed and took off her shoes. When she slid her dress up to her thighs she saw that she still had bruises from the fighting she’d done with Sandor. They were fading now, into green-yellowish spots. Lenore grinned. _Battle scars, _she thought to herself.  
Sword fighting was fun, she never expected that. Now all she wanted was to actually cut someone with a real blade. _Meryn Trant would do good. I’d cut off his cock and stuff it in his mouth before I cut his throat open, _she kept on fantasising about brutally murdering everyone on her list.  
_Meryn Trant  
__Joffrey Baratheon… Lannister  
__Cersei Lannister  
__Ilyn Payne  
__Tywin Lannister  
__Janos Slynt  
__Jaime Lannister - _Jaime had never done her any harm, but he was still a Lannister, and so full of himself, and he killed her father. She wanted him dead. She picked up her sparring sword and began fighting air, then she remembered the talk about her bad aim, so she picked up a knife instead, and began throwing it at the wall. She had drawn a circle on the wall which she aimed for. Slowly but surely, those activities were taking over Lenore’s spare time, rather than needlework and sewing.  
Sandor knocked on her chamber door when he got off his shift. He was about to ask her why she was all flustered, but she just threw her herself at him and kissed him passionately. Clumsily he kicked the door shut before walking them to the bed where they collapsed and continued their passionate kissing. There was no time for talk, Lenore was craving him like crazy, for no real reason. Maybe it was the blackberry wine. The Hound grunted when his wife slid her hand down his breeches and grabbed his cock. He gritted his teeth and raked them along her neck as she slowly rubbed him up and down. All the time she had a smile on her lips and her back was arched.  
“Stand up…” she breathed and he did as she said. The smile was still playing on her lips as she hopped off the bed and dropped to her knees.  
“Fuck’s sake, Lenore,” Sandor said without knowing why. He helped her undo his breeches and he struggled to get his mail off, and when he was only in his tunic with his boots still on and breeches down on his knees, Lenore licked his cock from base to tip, and he let out a low groan as all the tension from this day seeped out into the thin air. He grabbed onto her hair when she licked the head of his cock again and took it in her mouth. He could barely believe it was happening, she had been so opposed to it before. She circled her tongue around it before she took him deeper in her warm mouth and began bobbing her head up and down slowly, giving a small moan when she did so. Sandor gritted his teeth again and closed his eyes, but opened them again immediately since he wanted to watch this fierce beauty on her knees with his big cock in her mouth. When he looked down at her, he looked straight in her eyes. The good girl was looking at him to see his reaction. He grunted again and pushed her head down slightly. He’d have liked to fuck her throat until she was gagging, but then she might not suck him off again, and he was enjoying this far too much to risk that.  
Soon enough she’d sped up her pace and once or twice she’d taken him so deep that she choked. Then she would pull away for a second only to wipe her mouth and continue.  
“Good girl…” he panted and admired the view. She looked so submissive on her knees, but then again, she often was. Sandor loved it, but felt himself tensing up and knew that he’d cum if she didn’t stop soon. He let her suck on him for just a while longer before he pulled her off of him, and she looked puzzled. __Fuck, she was such a beauty.  
“Was I not good?” she asked and he laughed out loud. He realised that he was the first man she’d ever done this to, so it was natural that she wouldn’t know.  
“You were fucking amazing, but I don’t want to cum before I’ve fucked you,” he said and pulled her by her hair up to her feet. She still smiled when she turned around to let him unlace her dress. He saw an opportunity to bite her shoulder when the dress was sliding off her and she giggled. He bit her neck a bit harder, then got on his knees and bit her butt cheek before giving it a rough slap. He pulled his tunic off and kicked his boots and breeches aside as well, and picked her up.  
She wrapped her legs around him and he pushed her up against the wall and entered her. They both let out rather loud moans and Sandor thrusted in and out of her ferociously, watching her shut eyes and open mouth as she took his pounding. When she opened her eyes he could see them glistening with unshed tears and he wondered whether she was sad or he was hurting her.  
“B-bed,” she moaned and Sandor dropped her on the bed before climbing onto her again and kept pounding into her mercilessly. She raked her nails all over his back and tangled her fingers in his hair. She pulled him down and kissed him again, and moaned into his mouth when he rubbed her clit with his thumb. Her back arched even more when she came undone for him, letting out a long string of moans and profanities as she did. Sandor kept fucking her but she motioned at him to stop. He didn’t want to, but he did.  
“What’s wrong?” he sighed in frustration but she didn’t reply, she only took his cock in her mouth again and sucked on him hard. Was she serious?  
“You want me to cum in your mouth, girl?” he hissed, barely believing it. She nodded the best she could while she took him as deep as possible, and soon he felt her delicate hands on his balls, and that was it. With a loud groan he grabbed her hair again and spilled his seed in her mouth. Her reaction, he expected it would be something of disgust, but she hummed and when he was spent, she pulled away and… she fucking swallowed.  
“Seven fucking hells, girl,” was all he could say. She licked the last drop of cum off his tip before wiping her mouth. Lenore couldn’t really believe it herself, what she had just done.  
When she’d washed out her mouth with some rose water, she lay down on her bed next to the panting Hound.  
“Anyone ever done that to you before?” she asked.  
“Aye, but none ever swallowed,” he said in admiration as he turned to look at her, she was still smiling.  
“Happy to be the first of something,” she murmured and then her smile fell.  
“What’s the matter, child?” he asked before he realised this was probably the worst timing to call her child, after what she’d just done.  
“There’s a war coming.”  
“Aye, a war coming and a Hound cumming,” he grinned a little.  
“Stop it… Survive, yeah?” she asked and looked him in the eye.  
“Don’t worry about that, little dragonfly, I’ll live long enough to see this boy king die, and then long enough to see the witch-fucker Stannis die,” he muttered. Lenore chuckled.  
“You’re a hateful man, Sandor Clegane.”  
“And you’re a tolerant woman, Lenore Targaryen.”  
Hearing someone else admitting her as a Targaryen by name like that, made her smile wider than she ever remembered smiling.  
“It’s actually Laenerys,” she murmured once she’d lain her head on his chest and closed her eyes. When he knew she couldn’t see, he smiled. A genuine smile.


	9. No true knights

“Lisha will be back any day now,” Lenore cheered while talking to Varys.   
“Do you miss her?”  
“So much. She’s always there for me, whatever happens. Does all the things a handmaid should do and so much more, she’s always been loyal, so caring.” Varys smiled and finished Lenore’s elaborate updo. She looked in the mirror and smiled.  
“Where did you learn to do hair like this?” she asked.  
“Where did I learn anything?” he asked back. Lenore nudged him in the side and grinned.  
_Knock… knock knock. _Petyr Baelish opened the door with a sour look on his face.  
“Good evening, friends,” he said and nodded his head. Varys nodded back but Lenore didn’t.  
“Evening,” she said to at least be a little courteous, “what brings you here?”  
“I’m afraid I have bad news. On their way across the Riverlands, Lisha and her company were overthrown and attacked.” A stone sunk to Lenore’s heart.  
“Leave us,” she said to Varys who snuck out silently. “Who by?” she asked when they were alone.  
“Gregor Clegane’s raiding party.”  
“_What?_” she burst out and rose to her feet, “Is she alive?” Lenore asked sternly even though she knew the answer. No one survived Gregor Clegane. Petyr looked down and shook his head sadly. Lenore took a deep breath and bit back tears.  
“Where is the Mountain now?” she asked bitterly.  
“I don’t know, my Lady.”  
“I will see him dead for this, mark my words. Leave me.”  
Once Baelish left, Lenore broke down and cried like a child. She remembered all the times Lisha had comforted her when she was sad or upset. She remembered how concerned Lisha had been when Lenore was set to marry the Hound. And the look she’d had on her face when Sandor was so angry he’d almost bashed her head against a stone wall. The tears fell and fell until she couldn’t cry anymore. She repeated her list over and over, with a new name on it.  
_Meryn Trant  
__Joffrey Lannister  
__Cersei Lannister  
__Ilyn Payne  
__Tywin Lannister  
__Jaime Lannister  
__Janos Slynt  
__Gregor Clegane  
_ Sandor entered her chamber and when she looked at him, her eyes suddenly filled with disgust. Sandor’s lip twitched when he saw it.  
“The Seven Hells is your problem now?” he groaned and shut the door. For the first time ever, Lenore thought she saw Gregor’s eyes in Sandor’s. She rose from the bed and began punching Sandor’s chest, but he soon grabbed her wrists to make her stop, and she shouted at him:  
“Your brother killed my friend! He _killed _my _friend_!” The tears came back to her and she couldn’t hold them back. Rage and sadness were too much for Lenore when combined, and she hit his chest again when he released her.  
“You’re hitting _me _because of what my brother did?” He didn’t seem to even feel her fists, but then again, he was wearing armour, so it wasn’t that strange.  
“He killed her! Lisha’s dead! Because of your brother!”  
“Because of my brother, not because of me!” He was growing sick of this now and grabbed her by her arms and turned her around. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her firmly until she stopped struggling and screaming, only then did he let go, and she fell back onto the bed.  
“I’m sorry about your friend, you seemed to be close.”  
“We were,” Lenore croaked.  
“I’m not like my brother, and you’re damn aware of that.” His voice was stern when he said it and Lenore nodded. She was aware of that. _“Have you ever raped someone?” _she had asked him. __“Never,” he had answered. The Mountain had surely raped Lisha before killing her. Lenore screamed into her pillow and Sandor cleared his throat and sat down next to her. He put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. There were times when he could be sweet, Lenore thought, even though he was seemingly awkward.

For days, Lenore couldn’t eat, sleep or speak. Sandor stayed with her at night, and Varys regularly checked on her. On the third evening she finally ate the soup Varys brought her.  
“What is in this?” she asked when the sweetness of it faltered and a bitterness took over.  
“Essence of nightshade, you need to sleep, dear.” Lenore moaned at him, and he gave her a sympathetic smile. “You need to recover and come back to us. They say Stannis is preparing to sail.”  _ What does that have to do with me?  _ she thought, but said nothing of it, because she knew Varys just wanted her best. She finished her soup and fell asleep to Varys stroking her forehead.  
Lenore put all her sorrow behind her the next day. She had a new maid draw her a bath, but she never spoke to her other than when instructing her to put vanilla oil in it. To suppress her pain, Lenore knew she had to find something new to set her mind on. In her bath, she brainstormed. She thought of the elaborate hairstyle Varys had done on her, and then she thought of Cersei.  _ Cersei always hated when I looked better than her.  _ She decided her new focus was going to be to annoy Cersei as much as possible by dressing her very best.  
Well out of her bath, having dyed her hair again, she called the maid back and had her do her hair. She put on a deep turquoise gown with a trail. It was square cut to enhance her bosom, and it had a corset that slimmed her waist down, though not so much to make it uncomfortable. She dismissed the maid and sat down by her mirror. She powdered her face and put on some rouge, and some vanilla oil on her wrists and behind her ears. Now she looked better than she had in weeks, and she knew Cersei would feel threatened when she saw her. And she wondered what Sandor would think. He probably wouldn’t see any difference.  
There was a knock on Lenore’s door.  
“It’s open!” she called. A maid with black curly hair entered and spoke in a broken accent.  
“My name is Shae, my lady, I am Lady Sansa Stark’s handmaiden. She wishes to see you.” Lenore stood up and smiled, the trail of her dress flooding behind her. “Should I tell her to wait or-”   
“No, I have nothing else to do right now, I’ll be happy to see her!” Lenore interrupted. She straightened her gown and followed Shae to Sansa’s chamber. They talked on their way there, Shae was from Lora.  
Shae left as soon as she’d escorted Lenore to Sansa’s chamber. Sansa stood up and embraced her. Lenore hugged her back and kissed her cheek.  
“It’s a pleasure you sent for me, Sansa, I haven’t seen you for quite some time. How are you holding up?” They sat down and Sansa offered her some buttermilk which she said yes to, though she’d have preferred wine, but Sansa rarely drank wine.  
“I’m… I can trust you, can’t I?” she asked. It pained Lenore’s heart each time she watched Sansa’s blue eyes sadden. She took her hands in her own.  
“Always, my Lady. I’m your friend and I will never betray you.”  
“I’m miserable,” she stated.  
“I know. It shows in your eyes, and your whole being. You’ve lost weight and your face is paler.”   
“Does it really show that much?” Sansa asked in a worried tone, “I can’t have that, I must look beautiful for his Grace, if I don’t-”   
“Fuck his fucking Grace,” Lenore stopped her and she looked utterly shocked. Lenore always filtered her language around Sansa to avoid frightening or upsetting her, but she knew that now, it wouldn’t matter, Sansa was already falling to pieces, and the last thing she needed was people not being honest with her. “Joffrey is an inbred bastard who’s happier torturing animals than looking at women.”  
“I… But he has Ser Meryn hit me if I don’t obey him.”   
“Aye,  _ Ser _ Meryn. Meryn Trant is an older, but no tougher version of Joffrey, and he’s a better child beater than a knight. Some day I’ll strangle him with his own guts. Forgive me… I really despise him.”  
Sansa had a little more confident look on her face when Lenore finished that sentence.  
“That’s why I asked you to come here. I wanted to ask you how you can stay so strong here. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve had to withstand a lot of pain in King’s Landing as well.”   
“You’re correct. I stay strong because I’ve stopped trying to please people. I only look after myself and the ones I care about. Fuck the rest.”  
“I want to be like that, but I can’t.”   
“No, you can’t, because you’re set to wed the king. My tactic is to stay away from him as much as possible, but you can’t do that.”   
“So what do you suggest I do? To be strong like you.” There was dejection in Sansa’s voice. Lenore would murder all of the royal family with her bare hands to see her friend smile genuinely again, the way she had done when she first came to King’s Landing. Before the boy king executed her father.  
“I suggest you learn the way the world works. You still live on the false hope that the songs and tales you’ve learned are true, don’t you?”  
“I…”   
“Lie to other people but never to yourself,” Lenore said harshly. Sansa sighed.  
“Yes, I do.”   
“There are no true knights.”   
“But-”   
“None. The world is built and ruled by killers, liars, thieves and rapists. Knights, royals and commoners alike.”  
“Are there no good people?”   
“Yes, there are. You for example.”  
“But I’m a stupid girl, I don’t count.” Sansa might have been naive and foolish, but she was not stupid. Every day she spent in this city, she grew smarter, Lenore thought.   
“You are not stupid, Sansa. You live on false hope and misery, but never call yourself stupid again.”   
“I suppose you’re right… You’re a good person too, Lenore.”   
“No, I’m not. I’m a liar and a traitor.”   
“You can’t be a traitor, Joffrey would have killed you.”   
“He’s not allowed to. Cersei owns me. He can have me beaten and flogged, but he can’t kill me. That’s why I stay away from him, he likes to have Meryn Trant beat me too. I also have the advantage of being wed to a ruthless killer, so I think Joffrey relies on Sandor to hurt me, and rests a bit there, thinking that I get torture from my husband.”  
“Do you?” Sansa asked and Lenore shook her head.  
“No. He’s the most honest man I’ve met, and I’ve met many. Truth is, if Sandor was made a knight he’d be the only true knight the world has ever seen.”   
“But he hates knights, doesn’t he?” Lenore nodded. “Why?”  
“He spits on them and their falseness. His brother is the main reason. Lord Baelish told you that story, am I right? About The Hound and The Mountain.”   
“Yes. May I ask you something?” Sansa’s voice weakened again as it always did when she was questioning something. Lenore nodded.  
“You said earlier that you don’t love, or even like, the Hound, but you speak well of him and see him as the only trustworthy man. Are you sure you don’t like him?”  
Lenore sighed and thought for a while.  
“My relationship with Sandor is complicated. I do believe he has a good heart, but a very dark one. Misery and hate makes him so… rough and spiteful. He’s both good and bad, you know?”   
“Yes. He saved me from that mob and gave me his cloak when Ser Meryn ripped my gown, but he also mocks me and scares me.”   
“My point exactly. I don’t like being married to him, but rather him than, well… any other man in this city. You know, Sansa, I was like you when I was younger. I wanted to marry a knight, a true and noble man, and live in a keep somewhere. I had hope for my future and thought that I would have a good life.”  
“What made you change your view?”   
“The day  _ Ser  _ Meryn Trant raped me. I lost all hope in knights when he raped a helpless nine year old girl.” Sansa’s eyes widened when she said that.  
“He... I knew he wasn’t a true knight, but…”   
“As I said, love, there are no true knights. That day I gave up all hope of a happy future. Who would want to wed a ruined girl?” They were both quiet for quite some time until Sansa straightened her back and looked Lenore in the eye. Confidently but softly she said:  
“The Hound.”  
“Yes… he cares not about maidenhoods or status.”   
“The truest man there is,” Sansa joked lightly.   
“If we had wine we’d toast to that,” Lenore said and they both smiled at each other and soon began laughing together. But eventually the sad look came back to both their faces.  
“What did you mean when you said Joffrey can’t kill you because Cersei owns you?” Sansa asked.  
“I would like to tell you, Sansa, I really would, but I can’t. I’m not the person everyone thinks I am, but a person far more useful to Cersei. She needs me alive, but she doesn’t need me whole,” Lenore explained the best she could without actually revealing her identity, and the auburn haired girl looked confused. “I’m sorry, I trust you, I do, but I can’t tell you more.”   
“I understand… I think. Who you are doesn’t matter to me as long as you’re my friend and you’re honest with me. Your honesty is one of your best traits.”  
“It’s my  _ only _ good trait,” Lenore laughed sadly.  
“You have many, you  _ are  _ a good person.”  
“Goodness is abstract, it depends on whose eyes it comes from. You see me good, Cersei sees me bad. Sandor sees me in between. My handmaid sees… saw... me really good, Joffrey sees me really bad.” Sansa sighed and stood up.  
“Come walk with me, we could do with some fresh air,” she suggested.  
They were walking the halls when Meryn Trant approached them. Forgetting her own fear of him, Lenore took a protective hold of Sansa’s wrist.  
“Lady Lenore, Lady Sansa,” Trant greeted and only Sansa greeted back with a small courtesy. “Lady Sansa, come with me,” Trant said and Lenore stepped in front of her when she hesitantly moved towards the kingsguard.  
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Lenore cut him short when he was about to speak to her.  
“She is. King’s orders.”   
“I don’t care, you won’t lay a hand on her ever again, do you hear me, Child-Beater?” He moved his hand to the hilt of his sword before he spoke again.  
“You will address me as Ser,  _ do you hear me?”  
_ _ _ Lenore smirked at the angering knight.  
“As you will,  _ Ser  _ Child-Beater,” she said dryly and Meryn backhanded her, but she didn’t lose balance.  
“Lady Sansa, I order you to come with me at once, the king requires your presence.”   
“I… I don’t have to go with you if I don’t want to…” Sansa mumbled insecurely.  
“Yes, you do.” Again, the shaking Sansa, who obviously didn’t want to go with him, was about to give up and go.  
“You’re not very clever, Ser Child-Beater. She’s not going with you. If the king wants to see her,  _ I  _ will walk her to him. You may follow if you wish, but only if you walk behind us.”  
The rage on Meryn Trant’s face was obvious, but he didn’t protest anymore. He did, however, walk up to Lenore and grab her face.   
“The king will hear about this.”   
“My husband and Tyrion Lannister will hear about it as well, unless you do as I say. Let go of me and walk behind us.”  
With Meryn Trant about twenty feet behind them, Lenore and Sansa walked into court. They approached Joffrey by the throne but stopped before the stairs and they both curtsied. Joffrey waited for Meryn Trant to catch up before he spoke.  
"What is the meaning of this? Ser Meryn, you were instructed to bring Lady Sansa to me, not... her," he scoffed, displeased.   
"Lady Sansa is here, your Grace," Trant said and Sansa curtsied again.   
"It seems to me that she," Joffrey pointed at Lenore and his eyes flickered between them, "has escorted Sansa here, not you. Why?"   
Lenore smiled slightly and looked at her husband who stood on the bottom step of the stairs.   
"She insisted on accompanying us. And that I would walk behind them."   
"She... Insisted? You obeyed her?" This was angering Joffrey.   
"It's bad manners to refuse a lady, your Grace."   
"It's bad manners to disobey your King!" Joffrey shouted.   
"She- she threatened to uh... She threatened me, your Grace." Lenore saw how Sandor raised his eyebrow as if he was amused, and Joffrey fingered frantically on the arm rest of the throne.   
"You let a little girl threaten you!?" he yelled. Cersei tried to tell him something but he wouldn't have it.   
"A little girl?" Lenore questioned and Sandor made a face of disapproval. She looked at Joffrey. "I'm older than you are, your Grace," she stated with a smile.    
"Lenore," Sandor warned, clenching his fists.   
"Are you speaking against your King?" Joffrey asked her.   
"Why no, I'm merely stating I am older than you, so you shouldn't call me a little girl."   
"Ser Meryn, hit her," Joffrey commanded.   
"He already did, your Grace. Ser Childbeater hit me quite hard, you can inspect my cheek if you doubt it."   
"You are without a doubt the most stubborn, wretched, stupid little cunt I've ever met. But as you will, he won't hit you again." Lenore smiled even though she knew he wasn't just going to let her go, he would still have her punished. "Dog, discipline your wife! If you want to keep her face pretty, might I suggest a spanking?" Joffrey grinned. Lenore waited for Sandor to speak.   
"I'll keep the spankings in my chamber, your Grace, she screams so loudly, I wouldn't want to trouble your ears," he said dryly and the king chuckled. Nonetheless Sandor did walk down to her and grab her face.   
"When are you going to stop causing scenes in court, girl?" he asked angrily.   
"When I die," she replied and as a response, her husband gave her two rough slaps on her cheeks, one regular and one backhand. Hissing, Lenore rubbed her aching, reddening cheeks. Sandor hit harder than Meryn. She couldn't wait for him to do it again tonight.   
"You're dismissed, lady Lenore," she heard the King say. She kissed the shocked Sansa's cheek before she went back to her chamber.  
She stayed in her chamber until nightfall. She put ointment on her cheek that had been busted a little when her husband hit her. And a while later, the door was yanked opened roughly. Lenore looked and saw her husband, looking furious.  
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hissed.  
“I didn't want that wretched  _ knight  _ to hurt Sansa.”  
“It may have escaped your dumb eyes that he already  _ has  _ hurt her!”  
“It may have escaped your dumb brain that I can prevent him from doing it  _ again _ !”  
“You don't want her hurt, so you get yourself hurt instead?”  
“Rather me than her.”  
“And why is that?”  
“I can handle it! She can't! She doesn't deserve any of it.”  
“And you do…” Sandor questioned and walked closer to her.  
“More than she does.”  
“Some might call it brave, I call it being an idiot.”  
“The difference between you and me, Sandor Clegane, is that I protect the people I care about, while you protect those who hurt people you- well, you probably don't care about me  __ or  Sansa.”  
Sandor stared at Lenore for a while before he grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her in for a rough kiss.  
“You're an idiot. A little fucking idiot, do you know that?” he asked gruffly and bit her ear.  
“I think so,” she mumbled her response and allowed Sandor to pick her up, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him again, biting his lip, and he bit back harder.  
“Does it hurt? Where I struck you?” Sandor asked, but with no regret or pity in his voice.  
“Yes,” she whispered against his lips.  
“Good,” he started and threw her roughly onto the bed. “Then maybe you'll learn to obey.”  
“Dragons don't obey, dogs do.”  
“Oh how clever you are,” he growled and started undoing his armour, basically ripping off the necessary, while Lenore untied her dress and kicked it off, rendering herself in her over bust corset and shoes only. “Dogs ravage their prey,” Sandor growled as he got on top of her and ripped her corset right in half.  
“And I'm your prey?” she panted, sticking her hand inside his untied breeches, grabbing his hardening cock.  
“Yes,” he said simply. “Tell me, Lenore…”  
“Hmm?”  
“Did your cunt get all nice and wet when I hit you?”  
“No.”  
“Liar.”  
“Dog- ow!” she cried out when he hit her thigh hard. “Fine! Yes, yes it did. I'm a messed up little girl and I like it when you're violent,” she admitted, and felt herself grow wetter as she confessed and submitted to him.  
“Good,” he growled and pulled Lenore’s hand out of his breeches before pushing them down slightly, spreading her legs roughly and entering her, making her cry out again.  
“You hit harder than Meryn Trant,” she whispered and closed her eyes, her lips still parted in pleasure.  
“If you ever say his name with my cock inside you again, I'll hit even harder.”  
“Who… Meryn Trant?” she provoked, grinning and waiting. She didn't wait long before Sandor thrust into her as hard as he could, let out a loud growl and backhanded her unhurt cheek. Lenore moaned and felt her cunt clench around her husband’s cock.  
“You haven't killed anyone today…” she mumbled.  
“What of it?”  
“You need me… you get more aggressive on the days you don't kill. You need an outlet.”  
“Aye, are you analysing me?”  
“Yes,” she panted and gasped as he turned her around and started pounding into her from behind. “Bite me…”  
“I've said it a hundred times, girl. You're out of your damn mind,” Sandor said and bit down hard on the scruff of her neck, marking her as his own, as his bitch, claiming her. And the loud moan she let out almost had him cumming in an instant, but he wasn't finished with her yet.  
“You're right. I do need an outlet.”  
“Let me be that outlet,” she mumbled.  
“Say stop if it gets too much,” he said, pulled back, and hit her bottom with full force, making her sway and fall forward. He did it again, and again, and again and again until Lenore was sobbing into the pillow, but she never told him to stop. When he was finally satisfied, her lined his cock up with her soaked pussy and started fucking her again, and it didn't take her long to come undone, shouting his name over and over into the pillow as her cunt squeezed his cock, urging him to let go, and he did with a loud groan of his own, spilling his seed in her while digging his rough nails into the now red flesh of her arse. He smacked it one last time before he pulled out and sat back on his heels. Lenore lay completely still for a few moments before she rolled into her side. That’s when Sandor saw a wet spot on her pillow where her face had been buried, and he frowned.  
“Lenore… you heard me when I said you could stop it, didn't you?” he asked and pulled his breeches back up, tied them, and straightened his tunic.  
“Yes. But I didn't want you to stop. I crave your violence. You need an outlet, I need a… I don't know. But I need… this.” She wiped her tears and looked at him. She looked so small and helpless, and Sandor couldn't help but pity her. He turned the pillow over and laid down next to her.  
“You're still crying,” he stated.  
“I don't know why. I can't stop.”  
“So it's not because I hit you?”  
“That was just physical pain. I think… I think it released something.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I suppress so much shit. I think that giving up control and letting you hit me… it allows me to let go. And I guess… I guess everything just came pouring out then. I… I wasn't scared, before, when Sansa and I met Meryn Trant. I didn't feel a thing except a need to shield her. I tucked away my own feelings. Varys once told me that's toxic.”  
“You don't have to be a spider eunuch to figure that out. Of course it's toxic.”  
Lenore smiled before she sobbed again, and Sandor pulled the covers over her before he got up.  
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked meekly. He had planned to go to the tavern, and he figured Lenore wouldn't want him near her after what he had done.  
“Yes.”  
“Do you have to?”  
“No.”  
“Do you want to really bad?”  
“Not really.”  
“Then please don't go,” she begged.  
“Why do you want me to stay? Anyone in their right mind would hate me right now.”  
“We already know I'm not in my right mind. Just… please, Sandor. Don't go anywhere.”  
“Alright, little girl,” he said and laid back down, positioning his arm so she could easily lay her head on his chest if she wanted. For a while she just stayed where she was, letting her tears dry by themselves. Then she moved closer and put her head on his chest. And her hand as well, playing slowly with the string on his tunic.  
“Did you ever think of me before we… before that night?” she asked, making Sandor frown.  
“Why?”  
“I just remembered. When Ned Stark was alive, he warned me about you.” Sandor laughed bitterly.  
“Is that so? What did he say?”  
“He told me to watch out for you. That he's seen the way you look at me. That an honourable man might think me too young, but he said he had reason to question your honour.”  
“It's because I killed that boy,” Sandor said matter-of-factly. Lenore furrowed her eyebrows questioningly. “Some red haired butcher’s boy who attacked Joffrey.”   
“Butcher’s boy?” Lenore questioned. “I know this story, he didn’t attack Joffrey, Arya Stark did. Sansa told me.”  
“Oh. Well, I was ordered to kill him. Not my place to question princes.” Lenore nodded. She understood. She didn’t like it, but she understood. You just had to look at Joffrey wrong to be punished, imagine disobeying him.  
“You didn’t answer my question, though,” she urged.  
“Of course I thought about you before that night, you’re very appealing,” he said harshly. Lenore grinned and moved so that she could look at her husband.  
“Appealing?” she repeated and raised an eyebrow at him.  
“Yes, I’ve always thought you’re very pretty. You done having your ego stroked?” he asked and looked at her almost scoldingly.  
“I thought about you, too, you know.”   
“I hardly believe that,” he challenged.  
“At the Hand’s tourney. When your brother was about to murder Ser Loras and you stopped him. You didn’t have to do that. That was very honorable.”   
“Did you fancy the Knight of the Flowers, like every other young girl did?” he asked, and Lenore smiled at the obvious jealousy in his voice.  
“No. He’s a pretty boy. I don’t like pretty boys,” she said and moved again, this time to straddle Sandor, who was now smiling. “Then I thought about you again, when Joffrey was declared king and named you to the kingsguard. You refused to say a knight’s vow.”   
“What was special about that?” Sandor asked and started rubbing Lenore’s hips softly.  
“Everything,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone turn down the opportunity to be a knight before. I liked it.” Sandor chuckled.  
“Bet you did. So if you don’t like knights and you don’t like pretty boys, what do you like?” he asked, and Lenore thought about it.  
“I like big strong men who don’t pride themselves on false honour. Men who aren’t afraid of telling the world like it is. Men who aren’t stupid enough to make false promises, and who don’t mistreat women.” Sandor looked at his wife with a shit-eating grin. She had essentially just described him and he knew it. “Yes, strangely enough you tick all those boxes.”  
“I’d say you were damn lucky to marry me then,” he stated and pulled her down into a deep kiss.


	10. The Battle of Blackwater pt. 1

Lenore woke up the next morning to a feeling she had grown used to. Rough hands but a soft touch, stroking her thigh. She smiled. She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to face the world quite yet. Light, warm sunshine caressed her face. For a moment everything was perfect. That’s how she knew something was wrong. Something would turn this day to shit. She opened her eyes slowly. Sandor’s dark brown eyes were fixed on her pale thigh. Where his hand went, his eyes followed. He didn’t even noticed she had woken up. She watched him watching her, almost with admiration. His hand travelled slowly up her hip, her waist, her arm, then with a finger he caressed her cheek, tucking some of her black hair behind her ear.  
“Good morning,” he said softly.  
“Good morning,” she whispered back. She looked into Sandor’s eyes as he retreated his hand. They were deep, dark and sad. Perhaps that was why Lenore wasn’t afraid of him. He had sad eyes.  
“I don’t have long before I have to go,” he said. Lenore frowned. “Kingsguard’s duty,” Sandor continued.  
“Fuck the king,” Lenore muttered bitterly, making Sandor chuckle. Lenore sat up. “No, I mean it. Let’s just run away,” she suggested.   
“Can’t do that, little lady. I have to fight in this war. You know that,” Sandor said and put his hand on Lenore’s thigh again. She sighed.  
“I wish I could fight, too. I bet I’d cut down more people than the ill-trained, poorly disciplined gold cloaks.”   
“Who told you they’re poorly disciplined?” Sandor asked with a chuckle. He didn’t have much affection for them himself.  
“Lord Tyrion. He also told me you’re outnumbered.” Sandor nodded.  
“Aye. But don’t worry, little lady. Come back here,” he said and gently pulled Lenore onto him, wrapping an arm around her waist, a hand in her hair, and kissing her.  
When Sandor had left to go protect the king, Lenore had drawn herself a bath, done her hair and changed into a white dress with flared sleeves. On a day she knew would be bad, she could at least look good. Then she was off to find Sansa.  
Sandor was listening to Joffrey’s talking and whining as they walked. He was whining to Ser Meryn Trant about women. He was always whining about something. They passed the blacksmith, and Sandor stopped. That prompted Joffrey and Trant to stop too.  
“What is it?” Joffrey asked.  
“Your Grace,” Sandor started. This was something he had wanted to do for a while but simply hadn’t had the time or opportunity. This might be his last opportunity.  
“Yes?”  
“May I exchange a couple words with the blacksmith?” he asked. Joffrey looked displeased.  
“You’re leaving us?”  
“I’ll catch up. It’ll only take a moment.”   
“Do you need new armour or a weapon? You know the crown sees to that.” Sandor wanted to tell the little cunt to fuck off, but he held his tongue.   
“It’s something I’d like to do for myself,” he said. Joffrey looked away and fidgeted with his hand, as if he was weighing his answer in it.  
“Fine. If it’s only a moment. Ser Meryn and I will keep walking.” Sandor bowed.   
“As I said, I’ll catch up.” Joffrey nodded and they parted, Sandor entering the armoury. He located a blacksmith quickly.  
“You,” he said gruffly. A skinny young man looked up at him.  
“How can I help?”  
“I want a sword. ‘Bout this big,” he said and measured with his hands. The skinny blacksmith laughed.  
“That’s too small for you, Ser.”  
“It’s not for me, you idiot, it’s for my wife,” he muttered and rolled his eyes.  
“Ahhh. Name day gift?”   
“A belated one.” Sandor had been told that he had missed Lenore’s name day. It was apparently just after they got married.   
“How old did she turn?” the blacksmith asked. Sandor looked uncomfortable.  
“Fifteen,” he mumbled. The blacksmith didn’t react, so Sandor went to his next demand.  
“And put a dragon on it.” Now the blacksmith reacted. He crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows.  
“Don’t think I can do that, Ser.”  
“Of course you can, this is the best blacksmith in King’s Landing.”   
“I don’t think I  _ should  _ put a dragon on it,” he corrected himself. The Hound leaned in close to the skinny man and stared him down.   
“She likes dragons. Put a fucking dragon on the sword. On the pommel, on the hilt, I don’t care where. But if that sword doesn’t have at least one dragon on it when I come get it tonight, I’ll melt your fucking face with your own steel until you look like me. Do you understand?” he asked and leaned back again.  
“I understand, Ser. But it won’t be ready tonight, I’ll need at least two days.”   
“It’s a small sword, you’ll have it ready by tonight. Put more men on it if you need. And I’m no Ser!”   
“It’ll cost ya!”   
“I have money, don’t you worry,” he snarled and walked off, rejoining Meryn Trant and Joffrey.  
He was so sick of this life. Sick of guarding Joffrey like a dog. He had never minded before, when he didn’t have anything better to do, but now he had a wife. He suddenly understood why kingsguard members were supposed to be forbidden from marrying. Then they wanted to spend time with their women rather than their king. Joffrey was stupid for breaking that rule for Sandor. But they were rules, and not laws, and so he could break them without consequence. He already broken them twice by dismissing ser Barristan, and when naming Sandor kingsguard despite his refusal to take a knight’s vow. Joffrey liked Sandor, which was both a blessing and a curse.  
Nonetheless he followed Joffrey all day, until his shift finally ended and it was dark outside. He went first back to the blacksmith, retrieving the sword.  
“I barely just finished. Been workin’ on it every second of the day, several of us. But we made it,” the blacksmith said, wiped his forehead and handed the small sword to Sandor. He observed it. It had a blue stone as a pommel, engulfed in what looked like flames. The hilt twisted down and the crossbar was the dragon. “We took the hilt from another sword we’d been working on. I smid the dragon meself.”

“Good,” Sandor approved it. The blacksmith handed him a simple sheath as well.  
“If you’d given me more time I could’ve had the sheath match the sword.”   
“There’s no more time. This will do. How much?” he asked and grabbed his money pouch. He gave the blacksmith what he wanted, attached the sword to his own belt, then headed off to a tavern. On the way there he met his squire. He wasn’t a knight but somehow he still had a squire. Blessing and a curse, he repeated to himself. They were both heading to the tavern so they walked together.  
It instantly quieted down when the Hound and his squire entered the filled up tavern. He was used to it. He made people nervous. Even strong, brave Lannister soldiers were scared of him. But not Bronn.  
“Welcome friends!” Bronn said. Sandor ignored him. “This round’s on me!”  
The fact that people feared him made it so much easier getting a table. Two men instantly moved away when the Hound approached that table. He and his squire sat down. Sandor hated Bronn. He was a talker. And a self assured cunt. Always wanted attention, Sandor couldn’t stand it. He gave Bronn a dirty look. Bronn whispered loudly to the whore on his lap.  
“I don’t think he likes me.” He was right about that. Sandor chugged the ale one of the boys who left the table had put in his hand. Bronn did the same. They looked at each other again, Bronn with that cocky, smug face.  
“You think you’re a hard man?” Sandor asked, more annoyed than anything else.  
“Ho ho ho hoo… I know it!” Bronn replied and smacked the whore’s bum. The Lannister soldiers laughed, but Sandor shot them a dirty look. “It’s warm in here,” Bronn continued. “We’ve got beautiful women, and good brown ale. Plenty for everyone! And all you want… is to put one of us in the cold ground. With no women to keep us company.”   
“Oh there’s women in the ground,” the Hound snarled. “I put some there myself. So have you.” Bronn licked the corner of his lip and raised his eyebrows. “You like fucking. And drinking. And singing… But killing. Killing’s the thing you love.” He paused for a moment to let Bronn take in what he was saying. “You’re just like me,” he concluded. Perhaps that was why he hated Bronn. He stood up and started walking towards Bronn and the whore. “Only smaller.”  
“And quicker!” Bronn insisted with a chuckle. No one laughed or smiled at him.  
“Your Lord Imp’s going to miss you,” the Hound muttered. The room was so quiet you could cut the tension with a knife. Bronn but down his ale.   
“Aye.” He patted his whore’s bum and she got off his lap so that he could stand up. “I expect he will someday.” His hand was behind his back, most likely holding a weapon. The Hound’s hand was aching for his sword as well, he wanted to fight this man, and he was going to. Until the bell rang. The bells only meant one thing now. War. Stannis. The Lannister soldiers scurried up and away to get ready. Bronn and the Hound resumed eye contact.  
“One more drink before the war, shall we?” Bronn asked. Sandor contemplated. It wouldn’t be very smart to kill a good killer on his own side just before the war. He agreed. Maybe he could come to not hate the sellsword as much if they drank together.  
Lenore heard the bells. A panic settled inside her. She was supposed to hide in Maegor’s holdfast with Cersei and the other women and children. But first she needed to run to her chamber. Underneath her dress, she put on the hose-like leggings Sandor had bought for their training. She put on a tunic and a leather corset, grabbed the leather garter belt, fastened it around her thigh and put her dagger in it. She looked like some sort of female ranger, she thought. Then she put her white dress back on, hiding the ranger clothes, once again looking like a highborn lady. She exited her chamber only to see Sansa and her handmaiden walking outside. She caught up with them, asking where they were heading.  
Joffrey had called on Sansa to see him off before the battle. Of course.  
“I’m coming with you,” Lenore insisted. They were both heading to Maegor’s holdfast eventually. But Sandor would be with Joffrey, and Lenore had to see him off too. Sansa nodded, and along with Shae, they walked down to the court. Joffrey wasn’t there yet. But Tyrion was, and he was approaching them. He looked handsome in his red and gold armour.  
“Lady Lenore, lady Sansa, and uh, Sheila,” he said sheepishly. Lenore wanted roll her eyes at his bad attempt to fool them that he didn’t know Shae, but instead she smiled and nodded.  
“Shae,” the handmaiden corrected him.   
“Shae. Yes.” Tyrion turned back to Lenore and Sansa. “Surely my sister has asked you to join the other highborn ladies at the Maegor’s holdfast.” Sansa was the one who responded.   
“She has, my lord, but king Joffrey sent for me to see him off.” Lenore didn’t say anything. Tyrion knew why she was here. She looked after a sign of Joffrey or Sandor. And she saw them.  
“Sansa!” Joffrey shouted. He and the Hound were coming towards them.  
“Always been a great romantic, my nephew,” Tyrion said sarcastically.   
“Sansa, come here!” Joffrey ordered. Sansa started walking towards him but stopped and looked at Tyrion again.   
“I will pray for your safe return, my lord,” she said, ever so courteous.  
“Will you?” Tyrion asked sceptically.  
“Just as I pray for the king’s,” Sansa finished and walked off. Lenore nodded and smiled at Tyrion, wished him good fortune, then walked after Sansa. Tyrion stayed to say something to Shae.  
Lenore listened as Joffrey bragged to Sansa about his new sword, Hearteater. The Hound was looking at her the whole time and she kept glancing at him as well. She didn’t want to interrupt the king or in any way steal his attention by speaking to Sandor though. Joffrey made Sansa kiss his sword. Lenore was thankful her husband didn’t share the same enthusiasm for superstitious rituals. She watched with a frown as Sansa obeyed.  
“You’ll kiss it again when I return. And taste my uncle’s blood.”   
“Will you slay him yourself?” Sansa asked. Lenore was just thinking the same, but in a far more condescending tone.  
“If Stannis is fool enough to come near me,” Joffrey sneered.  
“So you’ll be outside the gate fighting in the vanguard,” Sansa continued. Joffrey was growing annoyed.   
“A king doesn’t discuss battle plans with stupid girls!” He was starting to fidget. Sansa played along, agreeing that she was stupid. When she mentioned her brother, Lenore tuned out. Her whole body was on edge with nervosity. She needed to say  _ something _ to Sandor. She hurried around Sansa and Joffrey to where her husband stood behind him. He looked down at her and she put her hand on his chest.   
"Sandor…” she said and hesitated. She didn’t know what to say, every sentence got stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Don't die out there with them."   
"Don't kill yourself in here with  _ them _ ," Sandor retorted and nodded to Sansa and Shae. He knew Lenore wouldn’t like it in Maegor’s holdfast with the women and children. She smiled at him. "Don't I get a good luck kiss?" he asked and leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled away.   
"You'll get one when you return," Lenore said steadily. Sandor gave her a crooked smile before walking away, following Joffrey. Lenore took a deep breath as she watched him exit. She was scared. What if he didn’t return?   



	11. The battle of Blackwater pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lenore is held up in Maegor's Holdfast with Sansa and the queen, while Sandor is fighting... nothing can go wrong, right?

Lenore was miserable held up in Maegor’s holdfast. All she wanted to do was go out there and fight, but instead she sat with Sansa and Shae and talked and prayed.  
“I don’t even know why she wants me here, she’s always saying how stupid I am, she hates me,” Sansa spoke quietly.  
“Maybe she hates you less than she hates everyone else,” answered her black haired handmaid.  
“I doubt it…” Sansa said.  
“Maybe she’s jealous of you,” the handmaid suggested but Sansa dismissed that comment. Lenore sighed and glanced at the queen regent who was currently getting her wine cup filled.  
“Sansa!” she called and the redhead walked over to her obediently. “I was wondering where our little dove had flown,” the queen regent said and Lenore stopped listening. She assumed Sansa was about to be mentally tormented, since that was Cersei’s greatest talent. That and fucking. Lenore sighed again and leaned her back against one of the beds.  
Sansa returned to the rest of the group of women and they prayed together. Until Cersei called her over once more and proceeded to tell her about how the gods have no mercy, and how if they won the battle these women, hens she called them, would return to their cocks, and that if the city was sacked, she wouldn’t be able to seduce Stannis Baratheon. The queen regent was visibly drunk now. Lenore felt sick, her hatred for Cersei grew stronger every day, though she did agree that a woman’s best weapon is between her legs. Thinking of weapons, Lenore thought again about how badly she wanted out of here to fight. She was good at fighting with a sword now after all the lessons Sandor had given her. She wondered how her husband was doing out there. He was doing good, she told herself, he could probably kill half the men out there alone. But she needed to be sure, so she went over to the window and stared out.  
After a while, Cersei noticed Shae and called her over as well. She was about to question her about something when Lancel Lannister burst through the door and informed her that the Blackwater was on fire. Lenore grinned before remembering her husband’s hatred and fear of fire. An ill feeling spread through her gut. When Lancel left, Lenore walked up to the queen regent.  
“Your Grace,” she curtsied and Cersei smiled.  
“What do you want, sweetling?” she asked in that mock sweet tone.  
“I was wondering if you would let me out to fight,” Lenore said confidently, and half the room quieted. Cersei lifted her eyebrow.  
“Excuse me? Are you drunk, little Lenore?”  
“Don’t call me little, and no, I don’t get drunk in situations like this, unlike you, who drink too much.” Now the other half of the room went silent as well.  
“I value you too much to let you out there and die,” Cersei lied. She didn’t care at all, she just didn’t want to lose her Targaryen bribe-hostage-prisoner or whatever Lenore was to her.  
“I won’t die, I know how to fight.”  
Cersei laughed mockingly, not knowing anything about how fierce and strong she’d gotten.  
“How would you ever survive in battle? What do you know of sword fighting?”   
“My husband taught me. He taught me strength, he taught me how to wield a sword, taught me courage. By now I’m probably better than half the men out there.”  
“When have you had time to do that? All I’ve ever heard of you two doing is fighting and fucking until you can’t walk.”   
“Perhaps you only know what I want you to know,” Lenore said coldly with a stern face. She could see the anger in Cersei’s eyes and smiled.  
“My answer is no,” Cersei said sternly before turning her falseness back on, “as I said, I value you too much.”   
“You’re a liar, Cersei.” Shocked gasps came from the women in the room, and she could  _ feel _ Sansa’s wide eyes from behind her. If Lenore had been any other girl, she would have been dead. “You hate me, why don’t you just say it? You want nothing more than for me to go out there and die.”   
“Now, what makes you say that, sweetling?”   
“Do not call me your sweetling. Let me out.”   
“No. You can try to leave if you want, but you will only end up with Ser Ilyn’s justice if you do.”  
Lenore squinted at Cersei before going up to Ilyn Payne and staring him in the eye.  
“You will not touch me,” she told him. “And you will not kill me, do you understand? I don’t know how I’ll die yet, but it certainly won’t be by your hand,” she practically snarled. Then she went back to the window, staring out, locating her husband again. She followed his every move with her eyes, occasionally sipping her wine, tossing the cup on the floor when it was empty.  
"Lenore," Cersei called after a while.   
"Yes." Lenore didn’t move from the window.   
"Do you love your husband?"   
"No."   
"Then why are you staring out that window like a bloody owl?" Cersei sounded annoyed. Of course she was. She wanted Lenore to hate her husband, wanted her to suffer. But she didn’t appear to.   
"I want to know how the battle is going," Lenore said.   
"Well? How is it going?"   
"I don't know."   
"No... because you've only been watching your husband. How many men has he killed so far?"   
"Forty eigh-... forty nine," she said, but then he moved and she lost track of him, and Cersei chuckled smugly. She then proceeded to tell Sansa and her handmaiden that Ilyn Payne wasn't in fact here to guard them, but rather he was here to kill them if the city was to fall. She continued to be nasty for quite some time.  
Lenore was just about to call her a cunt when Lancel Lannister burst through the door again. What in the seven hells was he even doing in here all the time? As he spoke to the queen regent, Lenore glanced at Ilyn Payne, who was looking right back at her with that grim, awful face. She shuddered, and suddenly she jumped when Cersei punched Lancel in the chest and he screamed and fell backwards, roaring in pain. Cersei grabbed Tommen’s hand and ran outside. What was happening? All the ladies began to panic, and oddly enough, Sansa Stark was the one who comforted them. Lenore knew what she had to do, and she had to act quickly. She walked up to Sansa and took her hand.  
“Sansa, I just wanted to tell you something.”   
“What is it, my lady?” she asked, ever so courteous.  
“I love you,” she said and gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, “best of luck with everything.” Then she ran.  
“Wait, where are you going?” Sansa called after her, but she didn’t answer.  
As expected, Ilyn Payne moved to block her way out the door, but Lenore was prepared. She had grabbed the dagger she had fastened in her leather garter belt. As Ser Ilyn raised his hands to stop her, she stabbed him in the eye and ran out the door, leaving behind all the ladies who were now screaming. She left behind Ilyn Payne bleeding and shouting without words. And she left behind her red haired friend, though she hated doing so.  
On her way to her chamber she had to stab yet another person, a guard who wanted to ask questions. She wasn’t going to let anything stop her. Well in her chamber, she picked up her bag. She was about to leave her chamber when she saw him in front of her. His face was terrifying, not because of his burns or all the blood, but because of his expression.  _ He  _ was terrified.  
“Sandor,” Lenore gasped, and despite all the blood on him, she still took his face in her hands and kissed him roughly. He kissed her back just as hard before pulling away.  
“We’re leaving,” he growled.   
“What?”   
“Now, and it seems you were already planning to. Did  _ you _ kill the guard?” he asked with a smirk.   
“No, I just stabbed him.”   
“He’s dead. You killed him. Congratulations.” Lenore blinked. So that was her first man.  
Sandor was holding her wrist tightly as they hurried through all the corridors and out of the keep.  
“You’re leaving the king,” Lenore remembered. Sandor turned to her and put his hand on her cheek.  
“Fuck the king.” And she smiled widely.  _ Finally _ . They ran towards the stables, but with every step, Lenore’s guilt grew thicker.  
“Sandor wait,” she said.  
“What is it?”   
“Sansa,” she breathed. “I doubt she stayed in the holdfast after Cersei left! Maybe she’s in her chamber.” Sandor looked annoyed for a second. “Please,” Lenore begged.  
“Wait here,” he commanded, pointing his finger at her. She obeyed, and waited for him, with her dagger clutched tightly in her hand.  
Sandor reached Sansa’s chamber. She wasn’t there. He sat down. He’d give her a few minutes, but if she didn’t show up soon, he was leaving anyway. But Lenore was right, Sansa entered her chamber not long after he had come. She looked terrified, reaching her her candle, carrying it over to another drawer, and clutching her doll. She was such a girl.  
“They lady is starting to panic,” Sandor said. Sansa gasped and whirled around to look at him.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“Not here for long. I’m going,” he explained.   
“Where?” He hadn’t decided yet. Lenore probably had a few suggestions.  
“Someplace that isn’t burning.” He turned his head to look at the frightened Stark girl. “North, might be. Could be.”  
“What about the king?” Sansa asked.  
“He can die just fine on his own.” Sandor took another sip of wine from the skin he had stolen.  
“What about Lenore?”  
“Who do you think begged me to come here? We can take you with us. Take you to Winterfell.” He stood up and started walking towards Sansa. “I’ll keep you both safe. Do you want to go home?” he asked.  
“I’ll be safe here. Stannis won’t hurt me,” Sansa said. Sandor grew annoyed. She was so naive, still playing this game she wasn’t very good at. He stepped in closer to her and she flinched.  
“Look at me!” he ordered, and she did, holding her doll tight. “Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer. Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers some day. The world is built by killers. So you better get used to looking at them,” Sandor said. Now, Sansa straightened up, and looked him in eye for the first time.  
“You won’t hurt me,” she seemed to realise. Sandor almost felt bad for scaring her.  
“No, little bird, I won’t hurt you,” he ensured her. Then he began walking towards the door. She wasn’t coming. Fine. She could suit herself then. Sandor left and went back down to where Lenore was still waiting in the stable. She had already found herself a horse and saddled it. When she saw Sandor return alone she frowned.  
“She wasn’t there?” she asked almost desperately.   
“She didn’t want to come,” Sandor said truthfully. Lenore looked sadder than he’d ever seen before. He lifted her chin with his fingers.  “She’ll be fine,” he assured her before finding Stranger in the next booth. He looked angry.  
“I was going to get him out and saddle him for you,” Lenore started, and Sandor couldn’t help letting out an amused laugh.  
“Didn’t go too well?”   
“He almost bit my hand off before I’d even gotten the gate open,” she confessed.   
“He doesn’t take well to others,” Sandor explained and stroked his horse’s neck before saddling him himself. Not even his squire could touch Stranger after all these years. They led the horses outside, and then they were off, Sandor in his dark bloody armour, Lenore in her white dress, but both on black horses.


	12. Stranger and Windrunner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally forgot to update because life got hectic, sorry! Back at it now :)

“I still don’t understand why Sansa wouldn’t come with us,” Lenore pondered with a frown.  
“Me neither,” Sandor mumbled distantly.  
“You told her I was with you, right?”   
“Of course I did. I even said we could take her to Winterfell. Would you shut up about her now?”   
“Wow, you get angry fast when you haven’t eaten.”   
“It’s not because I’m hungry,” he muttered. Lenore halted her horse, and Sandor steered Stranger around to stop and look at her.  
“Then why are you so mean?”   
“I was almost set on fire just a few hours ago, Lenore!”   
“You were not. You’re exaggerating. I was watching you through the window.”   
“You were, huh?” Sandor sounded amused. “Did you like watching me kill?”  
“I did,” she confessed. Sandor laughed bitterly before they started riding again.  
“So where should we go?” he asked after a while. It was dark, still in the middle of the night. Then needed to find a place to sleep soon.  
“I don’t know.”   
“No? I’d have thought you’d have a place in mind.” Truthfully she did. She knew whom she wanted to go to, but she didn’t know just where to find her.  
“I want to go across the narrow sea,” she admitted.  
“Why?”  
“My sister is there. Daenerys.”  
“There are many lands beyond the narrow sea. Do you know where she is?”  
“No… Last I heard she was in Qarth.” Sandor made a face of displeasure.  
“It’s a long road to Qarth, Lenore. Are you sure you’re up for it?”   
“Yes,” she said firmly.  
“Alright. But we can’t go yet. They’ll be watching the harbor.”  
“What?”   
“You think the Lannisters are happy that the king’s sworn shield and their Targaryen hostage escaped? They’ll be looking for us when they realise we’re gone. And they’ll definitely be watching the harbor,” Sandor finished, and Lenore frowned deeply.  
“Then we’ll go somewhere else first. They’ll get tired of looking eventually. Then we’ll cross.”   
“Fine. But for now let’s find a tavern. I need a drink. And something to eat.”   
“So you  _ are  _ hungry!” Lenore said triumphantly. Sandor gave her a snort-like laugh.  
“Aye, I’m hungry. And so are you.”  
When they’d come far enough from the Red Keep for someone to recognise them, and far enough from the battle, they found an inn that was still open. It was a dreary scene. It was dark, the only few men who were there were ugly and drunk, all looming over the same table.  
“This will do,” Sandor said gruffly. He tied their horses to a post, grabbed Lenore rather roughly by the arm. “If anyone asks, you’re not my wife, you’re my whore. And I’ll do the talking. Understand?” Lenore just nodded, shocked. She couldn’t help getting turned on by his mannerisms. She loved when he was rough and commaning. They entered the tavern together, but no one other than the barkeep even looked their way. Sandor ordered them both wine and some mince pie.  
“What are they doing?” Lenore asked quietly in her husband’s ear when the men around the table cheered and booed.  
“Gambling, I assume. Eat,” he said as soon as the pies were set in front of them. He ate fast, gulping down his wine and shovelling the food into his mouth. In the end, he finished the last third of Lenore’s pie as well, she was too full. Before leaving, they went over to the gambling table. Another barkeep was holding a mouse. The table was in fact a mini pit with ten small holes leading into different rooms. The men called out different numbers.  
“Three silvers on seven,” Sandor said and put three silver coins in the barkeep'' purse.  
“Alright, dropping the mouse,” the barkeep said and put the small mouse down in the middle of the tiny arena. It stayed still for quite some time before running towards one of the openings. The one numbered seven. Sandor grinned and one man banged his hand on the table.  
“Beginner’s luck!” he shouted, spit coming from his mouth. Lenore made a face, but he didn’t notice. The barkeep emptied the purse and handed Sandor all the money.  
“Very good. Another round?” she asked.  
“No. We’re leaving.” He nodded goodbye to the men, grabbed Lenore again and leaving with here.  
“What was that game?” she asked.  
“Mouse roulette. You bet on which door the mouse runs to.”  
“That’s barbaric,” Lenore said disapprovingly.  
“You’ve just seen me gut men, and you think  _ that’s  _ barbaric?” Sandor asked in disbelief. Lenore shrugged.   
“I like most animals better than I like most men,” she said simply, making Sandor laugh.  
“I meant to give you this earlier,” he then said, releasing one of the swords from his belt and handed it over to Lenore. “I heard I missed your name day. So I had this made for you.”  
“You heard that, hmm? Where did you hear that?” Lenore asked with a smirk.  
“Lord Imp told me.”  
“Tyrion,” she corrected. Sandor rolled his eyes.  
“Tyrion. Go on, look at it,” he insisted and Lenore took it from his hands, pulling the sword out of its sheath. She gasped.  
“It’s beautiful! I love it… and the dragon… wow, thank you, Sandor,” she said with a large smile on her lips. She tucked the sword back into the sheath and flung her arms around Sandor’s neck, kissing his cheek and hugging him. He smiled uncomfortably until she pulled away. She attached the sword sheath to the leather bag she wore, since she didn’t have a weapons belt of her own.  
“Come on, we best get going,” Sandor changed the topic, uncomfortable with the fondness in Lenore’s eyes. He didn’t like when she thought he was soft. She nodded, and they got up on their horses again and continued riding. They needed to get out of King’s Landing before dawn. They rode for hours, Sandor leading the way. He was thankful Lenore wasn’t one of those squeamish ladies who hated riding and complained about soreness after less than an hour. In fact, she didn’t seem to mind life on a horseback. She was already fond of the horse she had stolen, he heard her praise him several times and whenever they made a short stop she would stroke the stallion’s neck.  
“They called that one Windrunner,” Sandor said when they had stopped by a pond to water the horses.   
“Windrunner,” Lenore repeated, rolling the name off her tongue. “Because he gallops quieter and more smoothly than most horses?” she assessed. Sandor nodded.  
“You know horses,” he stated. Lenore nodded.  
“Tyrion would take me riding sometimes. But I’ve never ridden a horse like this. He seems to almost fly when he gallops.”  
“Hence the name,” Sandor confirmed. “We can stop here and sleep. You’re tired.”   
“Shouldn’t we find an inn?” Lenore asked.  
“I’d rather not be butchered in my sleep by a Lannister soldier searching every inn for us.”   
“Right…”  
“You’ve never slept outdoors, have you?” he asked, humoured. Lenore shook her head.  
“No. But I guess I’ll have to get used to it,” she said matter-of-factly. “That’s my girl,” Sandor said with a small grin and began his search for good ground to sleep on. When he found it, he ripped off his white kingsguard cloak and laid it on the dry grass. Then he went over the horses, tying them to a nearby tree.  
“Do you know how to make a fire?” he asked Lenore.  
“I’ve never made one, but I’ve seen one made,” she said, nervously tugging at the sleeve of her dress.  
“You’re so not dressed for this,” Sandor scolded playfully. Lenore laughed quietly.  
“No. But I have other clothes underneath.”   
“Good. Planning an escape before the battle even started, were you?”  
“Planning to run outside and help you fight, rather,” she confessed, forcing a laugh out of Sandor.  
“Silly girl. Come on, I’ll teach you how to make a proper fire. Gather some rocks,” he ordered. They both found enough rocks to make a ring, then Sandor put sticks and grass inside it to form a bonfire, and lit it. “That should keep us warm. Come on,” he said and laid down on his cloak, putting his bag underneath his head as a pillow. Lenore took off her bag, laid it next to Sandor’s, laid down and huddled close to him, putting her head on his chest. He wrapped one of his arms under and around her, holding her.  
“Go on, get some sleep,” he muttered softly, but she was already dreaming.


	13. Keep warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the dance the ladies dance at the inn! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXAKNgMF0tg

Lenore’s back ached when she woke up, still nestled up tightly next to her husband. He was still snoring. Lenore turned over, facing the firepit. The fire had gone out, and it was a cold morning. Lenore got up, stretched, then went to find some more sticks and grass to relight the fire. When she came back, Sandor had woken up. He watched her with mild amusement in his eyes when she layered the sticks and grass just like he had done last night. But before she could light the fire, Sandor spoke.  
“Come here,” he said firmly. Lenore looked surprised, but obeyed. He grabbed her by her hips and placed her on his lap. “I can think of better ways to keep warm.” He wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her in close, crashing their lips together in a hungry kiss. Lenore moaned into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He still tasted vaguely of wine. Soon he snaked a hand around her waist and flipped them over, laying Lenore on her back.  
Sandor slipped his hand down her body, hiking up her dress, seeing her tights and leather corset. He grinned and tugged the tights off along with her boots, for once careful not to rip anything. He undid his own breeches as well, and in a hurry he spat on his hand, using it to get his little lady nice and slick before he brought his hand back to her face, holding her as he pushed into her. Slowly as to not tear her open, he took her. She moaned and whined as Sandor got rougher, fucking her harder, deeper and faster. Lenore put her hands on Sandor’s broad, armoured shoulders, holding on, and she threw her head back, letting out a deep moan.  
“Fuck, Sandor…” she breathed, wrapping her legs around his hips. He felt so good inside her, so big and thick…  
“You like this, don’t you,” he growled, biting down on her ear. “Being taken hard, right here on the ground.”   
“Fuck, yes,” she moaned, feeling herself tighten around his cock, making him groan as well.  
“Feel so good,” he murmured in her ear, digging his nails into her bum, pushing himself deeper into her warmth. He pounded her until she came undone for his, crying his name into the open air. Seconds later he let himself go, cumming inside her. She loved taking his seed inside her, he could see it on her face, the way she closed her eyes and quieted down, her mouth just hanging slightly open until he was finished.  
With a satisfied groan he pulled out, tying his breeches again. Lenore giggled at the sight of Sandor’s cum dripping out of her. It made him grin with a primal sort of pride. She used a corner of his cloak to wipe herself clean before putting her tights and boots back on, pulling down her dress. Her pretty white dress was already starting to get dirty.  
“Did you bring any food?” Sandor asked. Lenore nodded towards her bag. She was better planned than Sandor. She had stuffed her bag with enough bread to last them a week. She had also brought plenty of dried meat, some sausages and a few apples. Sandor tossed her some bread and ate some himself. Lenore looked over to the horses. They were still there, standing peacefully and eating grass. Stranger wasn’t overly fond of Windrunner, always started stomping his hooves when he got too close.  
After they had breakfast, it was time to keep riding. They rode all day with few stops, until they were far away from King’s Landing. They reached another inn that night.  
“It’s probably safe to sleep here,” Sandor said, pulling off his gloves.  
“Am I your wife here of still your whore?” Lenore asked while tying her horse to a post. Sandor thought about it for a moment.  
“You can be my wife,” he said and gave her a smack on her arse. She feigned being insulted but it disappeared into a smile. She followed as Sandor marched up to the innkeeper.  
“Good evening, do you need a bed?” she asked. Two of her teeth were missing and her hair was greying and matted.  
“Aye. For me and my wife,” Sandor confirmed and tugged Lenore forward. She gave the innkeeper a shy smile. The innkeeper eyed her suspiciously, taking note of her fancy dress.  
“How’d someone like you end up with someone like her?” she asked Sandor, and Lenore thought she sounded jealous.  
“Took her from someone who didn’t want her anymore. One bed for Dargood.”   
“What was her name before you took her?"  
“Doesn’t matter, she’s a Dargood now. One bed,” he growled, getting impatient fast. The innkeeper shrugged and scribbled in her book. Then she showed them to their room. The inn had two floors. The first floor contained a tavern, and the second floor was where all the rooms were. They unloaded their bags and then went down to the tavern.  
It was a nice tavern, not dusty and grey like the ones in King’s Landing. This one was decorated in browns and reds, with some pretty tapestries on the walls. And Lenore loved the music. A few men playing different instruments and a few women dancing happily to their playing. It brought a smile to Lenore’s face. Sandor ordered for them. More pie. And bacon. And wine. When they were finished eating, Lenore got up.  
“Where are you going?” Sandor asked.  
“I’m going to dance,” Lenore said, almost defiantly, as she joined the three women who were still dancing to the music. They welcomed her happily and started teaching her their dance instantly. This was different than any other dancing Lenore had been taught in the capital. And she was loving every second. She was a quick learner, and soon she knew every step.  
Sandor ordered another cup of wine, and drank it as he watched his wife dance. She stuck out, in her pretty white dress. The other women were wearing rags, cheap skirts from the market, and Lenore was in fancy imported cotton. She looked ridiculous, but she looked happy, and it forced Sandor to smile.    
The bed was a welcome change after last night’s sleeping arrangements. It wasn’t very soft, but it was warm and had a blanket, and Sandor didn’t have to sleep in his armour. They fell asleep entangled in each other’s arms and woke up the same way. They both washed themselves in the morning, got redressed and headed down for some breakfast. Sandor had brought his bag of gold, Lenore her bag of silver. They both enjoyed bread, soft boiled eggs and bacon before heading back out. They were just about to head to the stables to get their horses when three men in red and gold armour approached them. Lenore spied the inkeep in the doorway looking after them.  
“Lannisters,” she whispered, tugging at Sandor’s chainmail sleeve.  
“I see them,” he muttered back, hand already on his sword. Lenore did the same, getting ready.  
“Sandor Clegane,” the tallest of the Lannister men said. The Hound raised his chin and looked the men up and down.  
“You’re far from home,” he said.  
“Difference between you and us is we’re supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be in King’s Landing fighting Stannis.”   
“Didn’t feel like it. Move out of my way.” The Lannister soldiers looked to each other. Sandor looked calm as ever. Lenore’s heart was pounding in her chest.  
“Don’t think we will. Thank Miss Linn for letting us know you’re here.” They drew their swords, Sandor and Lenore drew theirs, but before Lenore could move, Sandor shoved her behind him, out of harm’s way. She was almost offended but when she saw how well Sandor battled the three soldiers all on his own, she turned her eyes to the innkeeper. Miss Linn. She was still standing in the doorway watching. Lenore gritted her teeth and ran towards her. She noticed and set off in a sprint herself, her grey skirt fluttering in the wind. Lenore caught up with her soon enough, tackled her to the ground and pointed her new sword at her throat.  
“You sold us out,” she hissed.  
“I sold  _ him  _ out. Don’t know who you are,” she said, breathing heavily.  
“Why?”  
“Gold.” She shrugged, and Lenore put her sword through the innkeeper’s throat. She pulled it out and wiped it off on Miss Linn’s grey skirt, then ran back to Sandor. He was just wiping his own sword clean from Lannister soldier blood. All three men were dead on the ground. One with his head chopped off, one with his guts spilling out, and one with his shoulder sliced off.  
“You cut him through the shoulder all the way to the heart?” Lenore asked breathily, staring at her husband.   
“Aye,” he said simply, and Lenore stared at him in disbelief. He was so… strong. “Keep your clothes on,” Sandor said with a sly smile. Finally they were able to go to the stables and get the horses and leave. Apparently they needed to get even further away from King’s Landing than they thought.  
“You killed the innkeeper?” Sandor asked while they rode off. Lenore shrugged in self defense.  
“She sold you out. She might have told others if she lived.”   
“Good. Guess my big frame and horrid face are even more recognisable than I thought,” he said, spitting on the ground.  
“Your face isn’t horrid,” Lenore insisted, feeling bad that her husband still felt that way about himself. She thought he was handsome. He shook his head at her.  
“You bloodied your pretty white dress,” he said instead, changing the topic.  
“Yes. I expect it won’t be the last time.”


	14. Not a man at all

Lenore honestly had no idea where they were anymore. She trusted Sandor to lead, and he did. Days and even weeks had passed since they last stayed at an inn. It was sleeping in nature for them now. Lenore’s once white dress was now grey and torn, as was her once black hair.  
“You’ve never looked this unattractive before,” Sandor said with a chuckle as Lenore brushed out her grey mess of a hair with her fingers. She had brought a hairbrush but Stranger had eaten it one night. She had forgotten to put it back in her bag after using it, and when she returned from making water, she had seen the huge black stallion with bristles in his mouth and the wooden paddle on the ground beneath him. Sandor had mocked her for even bringing a hairbrush in the first place.  
“Thanks,” Lenore muttered, tying her hair off in a braid, ripping a part of her dress to make a hair tie. Her hair was streaky, still black in some places, dark grey in others, and a lighter grey in some. And it was dirty. Sandor didn’t seem to care much, he still tugged it and tangled his hands in it whenever they were fucking. All the food Lenore had brought was gone, now they relied on picking berries, fishing and the occasional rabbit. It was dawn now, and Lenore was putting berries in her mouth, leaning against Sandor’s shoulder as he was cleaning his sword.  
“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” she asked, mesmerised at the sky.  
“Hmm?” Sandor looked at her questioningly.   
“The sunrise.”   
“Oh. Not really,” he said and shrugged, sticking his sword back in its sheath.  
“Not really?” Lenore asked indignantly. “You’re so insensitive,” she scolded. “There’s nothing you find beautiful.”  
“There are four beautiful things in the world,” Sandor started. “My wife, my horse, my wine, and the corpses of the men I’ve killed.” Lenore stared at him for a while.  
“In that order?” she asked with a sly smirk. He squinted at her.  
“Careful now, girl,” he warned, only causing her to giggle. “Can’t think of anything better than a cup of wine right now,” he muttered as he got comfortable.  
“Mm, it would be good,” Lenore agreed.  
“Are you even allowed to have liquor?” he joked and she scoffed at him. “When was your first taste?” Sandor asked and she smiled.  
“Umm, I was eleven and Roose Bolton came to King’s Landing.”   
“What’s Roose fucking Bolton got to do with anything?”   
“He offered me hippocras.”   
“That man gets under my skin. The fuck would he give an eleven year old girl hippocras for? Why would anyone give anyone hippocras, it’s disgusting.”  
“Actually I think it’s delicious. He said it was good for my health and he wished me a long life. We sat in the garden, talked about health and ogled each other.” Sandor seemed to choke on his own saliva.   
“ _ What!? _ What do you mean ‘ogled each other’?”  
“He liked me, I liked him.”   
“You- he- what? Roose fucking Bolton and an eleven year old girl.” Sandor looked mortified and Lenore just laughed. “Do you still like Roose Bolton?” he asked in an angry, suspicious tone. She took a bite of an apple and answered.   
“He’s very handsome, though I haven’t seen him in years.”   
“That’s for the damn best!”   
“Supposedly he’s married a fat Frey girl. He was promised her weight in silver.”  
“Lords and their damned wedding proposals… Marry my fattest, ugliest daughter and I’ll make you rich…” Sandor snorted.   
“What would you have done then, if you had twenty daughters and forty granddaughters to marry off, and all of them as ugly as Joffrey’s warty arse.”  
“I’d marry them all myself to get the picture of Roose Bolton fucking you in the garden out of my head! Perverted old man...” He spat on the ground.  
“Have you forgotten yourself? You fucked a child too. Bolton never actually fucked me.”  
“D’he touch you?”  
“Stop it, Sandor.”   
“Did he?”  
“Are you jealous?” Lenore was growing impatient with her husband’s whining. He sighed and scratched his face.  
“I just don’t like Roose Bolton, and I don’t like the thought of him touching you.”  
“You  _ are  _ jealous!”  
Suddenly Sandor flew up and pushed Lenore down on the ground. He grabbed her face and stared at her.  
“What is wrong with you?” she asked with her hands above her head.  
“I’m a dog, Lenore. I protect what’s mine.”   
“You might as well piss on me then,” she jested and he just glared at her. He let her go and sat down again, next to her. She sat up as well, puzzled.  
“I’ve never had anything I care to protect before,” Sandor said after a moment of silence.   
“What about Stranger?”  
“He protects himself, no one dares touch him. It may feel odd to you, but you’re mine, alright?” Lenore’s brows were wrinkled and her lips pursed as she tried to make sense of his words. She nodded. “So did he?” Sandor bugged again, “touch you.”   
“Yes. He put his hands on my waist and kissed me on the lips. I let him, but I can’t recall kissing back. Don’t think I knew how to kiss… But yeah, Roose fucking Bolton was my first kiss,” she stated. She thought she saw rage on her husband’s face.  
“If I ever see him I’ll kill him. And I’m not jealous, I’m possessive.” Lenore chuckled.  
“Alright.” After eating and watering the horses, they kept riding.  
That night, for the first time in weeks, they visited an inn. Sandor drank more ale and wine than he had in a long time. Both their guards were down, and it turned out to be a huge mistake, because the men they had been drinking with had, when Sandor was next to passed out from the wine, put bags over both their heads and kidnapped them both.  
Lenore came to almost resent her husband for drinking too much. She had asked him not to, pleaded with him to stay sharp. Of course she couldn’t fight off the men all by herself. But she had managed to kick one of them really hard in the nuts before. And now they were being dragged away somewhere, bound and with bags over their heads. Lenore tried to listen to their surroundings. At first it was quiet but then she heard the familiar sound of drunk, laughing men. Were they being taken back to the inn? They were at least being taken inside, because suddenly she couldn’t feel wind anymore. Impressed woo-noises came from a bunch of men. Yes, definitely an inn.  
“Oh ho hoo…” she heard. “Now that, is an uncommonly large person. How does one manage to subdue such an uncommonly large person?” a drunk man asked. Lenore already hated him. She heard Sandor grunt in front of her.  
“One waits for him to drink until he passes out,” one of the men who had captured them replied. Lenore felt the drunken breath of the first man close to her.  
“Poor man, you have my sympathy,” the drunk man said. She heard Sandor’s bag being pulled off, and hers was pulled off too. She looked around with a sour look on her face.  
“Aha! Not a man at all… a hound! And his pretty bitch!” the drunk man exclaimed, and many of the inn guests started howling and barking. Lenore tore at her restraints, ready to fight them all, but didn’t get anywhere. “So good to see you again, Clegane,” the man said.  
“Thoros…” Sandor said through gritted teeth.  _ Thoros… Thoros of Myr?  _ “The fuck you doing here?” Sandor asked, annoyed. Thoros contemplated his answer.  
“Drinking and talking too much, same as ever. A pretty prize, lads!” he exclaimed, and was just about to turn to Lenore, but she was looking at someone else. Three young people were about to leave, and she swore one of them was Arya Stark. She wanted to say something, but wasn’t about to blow Arya’s cover. But she wasn’t the only one who had noticed.  
“Girl,” Sandor called out. She stopped, and turned around slowly. Sandor leaned in close to Thoros. “What in Seven Hells… are you doing with a Stark bitch?” They both looked at Arya, who stared back at them, looking petrified. Thoros didn’t answer. It was clear on his face that he didn’t know who she was. Lenore felt bad. Arya was on the run from one thing or another, and now her cover was broken. And it didn’t look like she was about to leave anymore.  
Sandor and Lenore didn’t know what happened next, because they were being dragged away again. Lenore kicked behind her angrily until she hit someone’s shin and heard a pained grunt, then she spat in front of her. Sandor’s strategy was another. He knew these men, at least some of them.  
“You think you’re good with that bow? You little twat,” he snarled to one of the men leading them away.  
“Better than anyone you’ve ever met,” the man replied.  
“Coward’s weapon. I like to fight up close. I like to see a man’s face when I put the steel in him,” Sandor continued ranting.  
“Why, so you can kiss him?” another man joked. Suddenly, Arya Stark was in front of the Hound, stopping them.  
“Do you remember the last time you were here?” she asked him, no fear in her whatsoever. Sandor looked at the inn and then back at the girl.  
“Looks like every other shit inn on the road,” he said. Another man shoved Arya away.  
“Now, apologies, but you’re one ugly fucker, and I’d rather not see you no more,” he said and put the bag back of Sandor’s head.  
“Anymore,” Lenore corrected him in a snarl. He gave her a rather amused look before putting a bag over her head as well. They were being lead up into a wagon, and Lenore heard what was probably Sandor’s head hitting the roof, and he grunted.  
“Watch your head!” the man with poor grammar said. Lenore wanted to strangle him, but he pushed her into the wagon as well. The next time they stopped, it was colder. And wetter. And stonier. They were being led downwards, into some place harder, but it grew warm again. A fire.   
“What is this place?” one of Arya’s friends asked.  
“Somewhere neither wolves nor lions come prowling,” Thoros said. Sandor’s and Lenore’s head bags were once again taken off, and Lenore realised they were in a cave. Sandor backed away from the fire as soon as he saw it. He looked around and grimaced.  
“You look like a bunch of swineherds,” he said coldly. Someone grabbed Lenore and led her backwards, away from her husband and to the side of Arya and her friends instead. Arya shot her a look, as if trying to determine who she was.  
“Some of us were swineherds,” the man Lenore had kicked replied to the Sandor’s remark. “Some of us tanners. And masons. That was before.”   
“You’re still swineherds,” Sandor growled. “And tanners. And masons. You think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?”  
“No,” another man said, and Lenore whirled her head around. Beric Dondarrion. She felt sick. “Fighting in a war makes you a soldier.”  
“Beric Dondarrion?” Sandor said. “You’ve seen better days.”   
“And I won’t see them again,” he said with a smile.  
“Weren’t you last sent out by Ned Stark to execute the Mountain!?” Lenore shouted. All her anger about Lisha had come back. Sandor stared at her. He didn’t know.  
“Aye,” was the only thing Dondarrion said. Sandor grimaced.  
“Stark deserters. Baratheon deserters. You lot aren’t fighting in a war, you’re running from it!”   
“Last I heard you were king Joffrey’s guard dog,” Dondarrion answered. Thoros smiled. “But here you are, a thousand miles from home. Which of us is running?”   
“Untie these ropes and we’ll find out,” Sandor challenged. “What are you doing? Leading a mob of peasants…”   
“Your lady was right. Ned Stark ordered me to execute your brother. In King Robert’s name,” Beric Dondarrion said. Sandor was having none of it.   
“Ned Stark is dead. Robert Baratheon is dead. My brother is alive,” he said angrily and spat on the ground. “You’re fighting for ghosts.”  
“That’s what we are. Ghosts.” Dondarrion almost looked proud, and Lenore rolled her eyes. Dondarrion continued. “Waiting for you in the dark. You can’t see us, but we see you. No matter whose cloak you wear. Lannister, Stark, Baratheon. You prey on the weak, the Brotherhood Without Banners will hunt you down.”   
“You found God, is that it?” Sandor spat, looking disgusted almost.   
“Aye. I’ve been reborn in the light of the one true god. As have we all. As would any man who’s seen what we’ve seen.” Sandor was growing impatient.  
“If you mean to murder me, then bloody well get on with it!” This time is was Thoros who answered.  
“You’ll die soon enough, dog. But it won’t be murder. Only justice.”  
“And a kinder fate than you deserve,” another man chimed in, the archer, the one Lenore had kicked.  
“Shut up, you bow-loving cunt before I shove one of those arrows up your arse!” she shouted, earning laughs from the Brotherhood. But the archer didn’t answer her, he kept talking to Sandor.  
“Lions, you call yourselves. At the Mummer’s Ford, girls of seven years were raped. And babes, still on the breast, were cut in two while their mothers watched.”   
“I wasn’t at the Mummer’s Ford! Dump your dead children at some other door!” Sandor snarled back.  
“House Clegane was built upon dead children,” Thoros exclaimed. “I saw them lay prince Aegon and princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne.” Lenore’s eyes widened. Those were her relatives’ names.  
“Do you take me for my brother?” Sandor asked. “Is being born Clegane a crime!?”  
“Murder is a crime!” the archer shouted.  
“I never touched the Targaryen babes! I never saw them! Never smelled them, never heard them bawling! Only Targaryen I’ve ever touched is my wife!” he screamed, and Lenore was shocked. In Sandor’s rage he forgot that Lenore’s identity was still supposed to be hidden. But to her surprise, no one in the Brotherhood seemed to care. But Arya Stark stared at her. “You want cut my throat? Get on with it!” Sandor yelled. “But don’t call me murderer, and pretend that you’re not,” he said, nodding to the men.  
“You murdered Mycah!” Arya suddenly shouted. Everyone turned to face her. “The butcher’s boy. My friend. He was twelve years old. He was unarmed. And you rode him down. You slung him over your horse like he was some deer.”  
“Aye, he was a bleeder,” Sandor spat back. Distasteful, Lenore thought and pursed her lips.  
“You don’t deny killing this boy?” Beric asked.  
“I was Joffrey’s sword shield, the boy attacked the prince.”   
“That’s a lie!” Arya shouted. “I hit Joffrey! Mycah just ran away!”  
“Then I should have killed you!” Sandor yelled back. “Not my place to question princes.” Beric Dondarrion stood with his hand behind his back, contemplating.  
“You stand accused of murder. But no one here knows the truth of the charge. So it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light can do that now. I sentence you to trial by combat,” Dondarrion said calmly. Lenore froze. Sandor could take on most anyone she knew, but… Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr were both legendary fighters. But Sandor seemed unphased.  
“So… who will it be?” he looked around, turning to Thoros. “Should we find out if your fire god really loves you, priest? Or you, archer? What are you worth with a sword in your hand?” Then he nodded to Arya. “Or is the little girl the bravest one here?”  
“Aye… she might be,” Dondarrion said. “But it’s me you’ll fight.” And just like that, Lenore’s blood grew cold with fear, and she thought, for the first time, that she saw fear in Sandor’s eyes as well.  
“If I die, what happens to her?” Sandor asked and nodded towards Lenore.  
“She’s not guilty of your sins. When you die, she’s free to go,” Beric promised.  
“You kill him, I’ll kill you all,” Lenore promised back with a cold smile as she was cut free. 


	15. Lord of Light defend us

“Lord… Cast your light upon us,” Thoros prayed, and the Brotherhood chimed in, “Lord of Light defend us!” The archer cut Sandor free from his ropes. “Show us the truth. Strike this man down if he is guilty, give strength to his sword if he’s true.” Sandor aggressively adjusted his armour while Thoros prayed, his voice turning into a whisper. “Give us wisdom. For the night is dark, and full of terror,” he finished, the Brotherhood repeating after him. Sandor looked angry as he was handed his sword. He spun his around, while Beric Dondarrion used his to cut his own hand, and seconds later his sword went up in flames, making Sandor stumble backwards. This had got to be cheating, Lenore thought bitterly. Sandor received a shield, and then it was on.  
He yelled as he lunged forward, striking at Beric. Lenore’s eyes darted from man to man, sword to sword, as they battled, lunging and striking, parrying, blocking, avoiding and striking again. Each time Beric’s flaming sword came close to Sandor, he looked mortified. As the fighting grew more intense, Arya stood up, invested in the fight.  
Eventually both fighting men were in the same crowd as Lenore and Arya, and they had to be pushed out of the way to avoid getting hit. When they had moved, Arya ran forward in front of the big rock they were behind, and watched closely. Sandor looked like he had the upper hand now, breaking the armour rack with one swing, then hitting Beric’s shield as he guarded his head. But a second later, Beric got a good shove in, pushing Sandor straight into the firepit, embers flying everywhere. He screamed and jumped out, kicking the barrels in front of him angrily, ready to lunge again. He got a good kick in, the Beric got a good shove in, and Thoros pulled Arya out of the way when they approached.  
Now Beric had the upper hand, but then he backed off, and Sandor lunged and hit, and hit, and hit, until Beric’s shield broke. He discarded it and attacked hard until Sandor fell to the ground, but he still had his shield, and he guarded himself with it, until Beric’s flaming sword set it on fire. He got up and tried to rid himself of the shield, and the men around them started cheering for Beric.  
“Kill him, kill him, kill him,” they cheered, and Arya joined in. Lenore stood glued to the spot staring. She knew better than to yell at her husband during a fight. Beric swung his sword around. Sandor realised he wasn’t getting the shield off fast enough before Beric was attacking, and he blocked the hit, pushing Beric backwards until he landed on his knees. He gave a loud scream, and Lenore didn’t dare to look. She closed her eyes, heard steel go through steel, then steel go through flesh, and the cave got quiet. She opened her eyes and saw Sandor still standing, his teeth gritted, and his sword cut through Beric’s shoulder all the way to his heart, just as he had done to that Lannister soldier. Beric dropped his sword and fell to the ground, and Thoros threw himself over him. Lenore stood paralysed until she heard her husband scream, dunking the burning shield against the ground.  
She ran to him, fell to her knees and ripped the shield off, suffocating the flames before throwing it away. She threw herself over her husband not unlike Thoros over Beric, and she stroked his hair out of his sweaty face. In her terrified state she didn’t even notice as Arya Stark had grabbed someone’s knife and was running right towards them, but her friend grabbed her and picked her up.  
“No! Let go of me! Let me go!” she shouted as she was being carried backwards. Sandor laughed.  
“Looks like the God likes me more than your butcher’s boy,” he mocked her, his head falling back onto Lenore’s lap.  
“Burn in hell!” the Stark girl screamed at the top of her lungs.  
“He will…” Beric said. Wait what? “But not today.” Beric Dondarrion had risen again, standing on one knee, his shoulder once again attached to his body. Lenore, Sandor and Arya all stared at him dumbfounded. Thoros’ prayer had brought Beric back to life. Lenore was experiencing so many feelings at the same time she thought she might faint.  
“How…” she started, but didn’t find words.  
“The Lord’s fire burns strong in me,” he said with a smile, and Lenore just shook her head.  
“You’re both free to go,” Thoros told her. She got up and helped Sandor to his feet.  
“I believe you have something of ours,” she said, staring Thoros in his eye. He nodded, and gave Lenore her leather bag back.  
“Forgetting something?” Lenore pressed. Instead of answering, he handed Sandor a note.   
“I want my gold!” Sandor yelled.   
“It says it clearly right there on the note you’ll be repaid in full when the war is over.”  
“Piss on that! You’re nothing but thieves!” Sandor shouted, throwing the note on the ground.  
“We’re outlaws, outlaws steal,” the archer said. “You’re lucky we didn’t kill you.”  
“Come try it, archer, I’ll shove those arrows up your arse!” he threatened, but Thoros pulled him back.  
“You can’t let him go, he’s a murderer, he’s guilty!” Arya shouted.  
“Not in the eyes of God,” Beric said.  
“You can’t!”   
“Enough! The judgement isn’t ours to make.” Sandor got his weapons back but he still looked furious. Lenore was positively fuming. Out of nowhere she jumped on Thoros, tackling him to the ground.  
“Listen to me, you ugly, drunk, balding cunt, you give me my money back right now or I rip your stupid top knot clean off your head!” she shrieked, slapping his face as hard as she could before sticking her hand down his pocket, finding a money pouch, grabbing it and hitting him in the head with it before she was pulled off of him by Sandor, drowning in his arms.  
“What are you thinking, girl?” he scolded quietly, and she just lifted the money pouch and dangled it in front of his face.   
“Mine,” she said aggressively. Thoros laughed at her, and Beric shook his head.  
“Go in peace, Sandor Clegane, the Lord of Light isn’t done with you yet. Go in peace, you too, Lenore… is it Baelish, Clegane or Targaryen?”  
“None of your damned business, ghost,” she snarled before once again getting a bag put over her head, and then they were being led out of the cave.  
The Brotherhood let them go after having led then far enough away from the cave that they wouldn’t be able to find it again. To Lenore’s surprise, they hadn’t stolen their horses. They were the first thing she saw a bit away when they removed the bags over their heads one last time. Sandor immediately starting walking towards them and Lenore followed, angrily.  
“What in seven hells were you thinking attacking Thoros?” Sandor muttered while walking up a hill.  
“He had my money! What in seven hells were you thinking getting piss drunk and getting us taken in the first place!? None of this is my fault!” she shrieked after him as she followed. Sandor spat on the ground before he reached the horses, cutting them free from the tree they had been tied to. Sandor refused to admit any fault, he just snarled at Lenore to get on her horse. She snarled back an angry “fine” and they started riding again, but they didn’t go far before Sandor decided that they would make camp here. Lenore was still fuming and refused to speak to him all night. She was so angry she wouldn’t even share his cloak, but slept on the ground a bit away from him. He had called her ridiculous for it.  
But when she woke up in the morning she found she had been moved, now she wasn’t only on the cloak, but wrapped in it. Sandor was nowhere to be seen, so she assumed he was trying to find something to eat. He returned shortly with a dead rabbit in his hand. Lenore had grown so sick of rabbit, but it was the easiest thing to find here. Sandor didn’t say a word as he made a fire, skinned the rabbit, and placed it over the fire. Lenore felt a pang of pain in her abdomen and groaned. Her moonblood was upon her, she knew it. She tried to sit up but it was too painful. Sandor turned around and looked at her.  
“You alright, girl?” he asked  
“You didn’t happen to see any yarrow around here, did you?” she asked, sounding rather pathetic.  
“No. What do you need that for?”  
“Back in King’s Landing, Lisha would always make me yarrow tea for the… pain that comes when women bleed…” she explained.  
“It’s that time, is it?” he asked, almost amused. Sandor wasn’t like those meakly men she had known who flinched when women’s monthly bleeding was discussed. He didn’t care much and he didn’t find it repelling either.  
“Yes… and it hurts an awful lot,” she whimpered. After sharing the rabbit, they got up and continued riding. It turned out to be yet another uneventful day on horseback until the sun was setting again and they stopped. Lenore’s pains were still intense, and she couldn’t be more grateful when she finally slid off the horse, clutching her abdomen with her hand.  
“You’ve stained your dress. And bled all over your saddle,” Sandor pointed out when he got off Stranger and tied both horses to a tree.  
“I know, but I don’t have anything to soak up the blood,” Lenore muttered. Thankfully there was a pond nearby where she could wash herself. She took out her dagger and started cutting up her dress, cutting until the whole skirt of it was gone, and it more resembled a tunic, and she took out the thread and sewing needle from her bag, and hemmed the edge. Then she washed the discarded skirt in the pond and cut it up into strips. It could be used for bandages, belts and hair ties. She hung the individual strips on a tree branch to dry, then took off all her clothes and bathed in the pond, washing her tights as well. When she got out of the pond she wrapped Sandor’s kingsguard cloak around herself while waiting for her own clothes to dry. The water had washed out even more of her hair dye, now all her hair was a light grey. Sandor had made camp while she washed her clothes, and the fire was already burning, so she sat down on the grass next to him.  
“What do you usually use to catch the blood? I never see ladies bleeding through their clothes in Court,” Sandor said with a small grin.  
“Wool rags.”   
“Wool? On your cunt? Doesn’t it itch terribly?” he asked.  
“Like a bitch,” she replied. “But we put up with it. Ladies are more resilient than you think. Like you said, we don’t want to bleed through our pretty dresses in Court.”  
“I imagine that would cause an uproar.”  
“Yes, men are feeble little creatures who can’t handle blood,” Lenore muttered, making Sandor laugh.  
“I cut men in half for a living, I see more blood than you can imagine,” he said.  
“Yes, well you’re not like other men. Other men would never fuck a woman while she’s... flowering,” Lenore said, emphasising the last word. Cersei always used it because it sounded more ladylike than bleeding. “But you have,” she said, recalling that time that Sandor had been so horny, and Lenore had been hesitant to let him touch her because of her red flower, but he hadn’t cared one bit, only ordered her handmaiden to change the sheets after they had finished.  
“When you’ve seen the things I’ve seen, you can’t be scared of a bit of cunt blood,” he grunted. Lenore smiled, but her eyelids grew heavy, and soon after she got dressed again, she was fast asleep on the kingsguard cloak. Sandor had gone off again, determined to find food and yarrow. But what he came back with was not what Lenore had expected.


	16. Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeek I'm extra excited about this chapter and forward!

Lenore was woken abruptly by a scream. One she recognised.  
“Let go of me!” the girl shouted. Lenore sat up and stared at Sandor who was walking towards her, with Arya Stark hanging over his shoulder. She had been bound with a rope around her body, and Sandor set her down in front of the fireplace.  
“What the fuck, Sandor!” Lenore burst out. Arya turned around angrily and looked at Lenore. “I thought you were going hunting for food, not for more mouths to feed!”  
“I’m sick of rabbit. Brotherhood stole most our money. Ransom this one,” he pointed at Arya, “and we’ll get enough gold to eat what we want all the way across the Narrow Sea,” he said. Lenore saw his point, but was angry that he would do this.  
“This is the most irresponsible thing you’ve done since we took off in the first place! I thought we were finally changing direction to find a harbour, and now we’ll have to turn back!?”  
“How do you propose to pay for a ship to take you across the Narrow Sea with no money?”   
“I have money!”   
“Not enough since they took more than half of it!”  
“Where are you taking me!?” Arya interrupted.  
“Shut up!” Sandor and Lenore yelled at her at the same time. She frowned. Lenore sighed and ran her hand through her hair. Sandor groaned loudly in displeasure.  
“I’m sorry,” Lenore mumbled to Arya.  
“Why are you with  _ him _ ? I know you,” she said fiercely. “From King’s Landing. You were Sansa’s friend.”   
“I was,” Lenore replied. “My name is Lenore Baelish,” she said, so used to presenting herself by that name for so long that she was surprised when Sandor gave her a disgruntled look. “What?” she asked him.  
“Didn’t you marry me a while back?”   
“Yes, and?” But then it clicked. “What, you want me to introduce myself as Lenore Clegane?” she assessed. He gave her a nod. “Why?” He shrugged.   
“You’re my wife. Do you terribly prefer Baelish?”   
“No,” she admitted.   
“Didn’t think so. You have my name, you ought to use it.” Lenore blinked and turned back to Arya.  
“Fine, I’m Lenore Clegane.”  
“You’re  _ married  _ to him?” Arya asked in disbelief. “Didn’t he call you a Targaryen back in the cave?”  
“Yes, I’m married to him, but I didn’t choose it. Joffrey made me. And yes, my birth name is Laenerys Targaryen, but I was raised by Petyr Baelish, so that’s the name I’ve gone by all my life.”   
“Why?”   
“I’ll tell you that another time.”  
“You stay here with her,” Sandor growled to Lenore before taking off again. Lenore unfolded the crumpled up kingsguard cloak she had slept on and invited Arya to sit next to her. She sat down, hesitant.   
“How can you be married to someone like him?” Arya asked, her voice full of contempt.  
“He’s not as bad as he seems…”  
“He murdered my friend.” Lenore sighed, and started plucking down the rags she had cut of her dress.  
“What do you think would’ve happened to him if he refused Joffrey’s order?” she asked while folding the pieces.  
“I don’t care what they would’ve done with him,” Arya snarled. Lenore tied one of the strips as a bow around her own neck.  
“You can’t expect him to disobey that monster on the throne. They would have tortured and killed him, Arya.” The girl seemed to understand, but she was still angry. Understandably, Lenore thought. They were both quiet for a while before Arya spoke.  
“When did you leave King’s Landing?” she asked.  
“Almost a month ago.”  
“Did you see Sansa before you left?” Lenore nodded. “Was she alright?” Arya asked. Lenore thought about it for a while.  
“She was still set to marry Joffrey when I left. Physically she’s alright. She’s not happy, but she’s alive.”   
“I’m going to kill him, you know. Joffrey,” Arya said seriously. Lenore smiled.  
“You have two people here willing to help you. Will you run if I cut you free?” she asked and reached for her dagger. Arya shook her head, so Lenore took the dagger out and freed Arya from her restraints. “Help me make a fire for when Sandor returns. He’ll have breakfast for us.”  
Arya helped her reluctantly.  
“Do you love him?” she asked while stacking sticks.  
“We didn’t marry because of love, we married because Joffrey is a sadistic cunt who likes playing with people’s lives,” Lenore answered and sat back, warming her hands over the crackling fire. Her body still ached from her cramps. The two girls sat in silence until Sandor returned. He threw a bunch of flowers in Lenore’s lap.  
“There’s your damn yarrow, for your pain. Don’t say I don’t take care of you,” he muttered, before sitting down opposite them on the other side of the fire, beginning to skin the rabbit he had killed.  
“Thank you,” Lenore said, and slowly started picking the flowers and leaves off the stems.  
“Why did you cut her loose?” Sandor asked, annoyed, when he noticed Arya helping Lenore.  
“She said she wouldn’t run.”   
“And you believed her?”   
“She’s still here, isn’t she?” Lenore muttered back, grabbing the wineskin and getting up to fetch water for her tea. She had an iron cup with her that she poured the water in, then placed it so that it was balancing on the two spears over the fire. When the water boiled she used some of her newly made rags to shield her hands from the heat when she took the cup off. She tossed in the yarrow flowers and leaves and let it steep.  
When she had finished her tea she repeated the same process, boiling water and letting tha yarrow steep in it, before pouring it into the wineskin. Sandor and Arya both watched her skeptically.  
“I’m not drinking that flower piss,” Sandor said gruffly when Lenore poured the second cup in.   
“You don’t have to. This stuff is good if you have a wound.”  
“I don’t have any wounds,” he muttered sourly.  
“Precautions, my dear,” she said and put the cork on the wineskin. It was the first time she had ever referred to him with a term of endearment, even if it had been sarcastically, and it made Arya give her a weird look. The three of them shared the rabbit before leaving the camp. Sandor put Arya in front of him on his horse, so she wouldn’t get away.  
“Why can’t I ride with her?” Arya asked, not happy about sharing Sandor’s horse.  
“Because I don’t trust her to catch you if you try to run,” Sandor muttered.   
“Thought she was your wife.”   
“Doesn’t mean I trust her.” Stranger snorted and his ears fluttered. He didn’t like having an unknown passenger on him, he had been making discontented noises since Sandor first put Arya on his back.  
The day ended up being the most awkward one since Sandor and Lenore had first left the capital. Lenore and Arya didn’t speak, Sandor and Arya hated each other, and Lenore was still angry with Sandor. Arya’s anger was obviously wearing her out, because she was almost asleep before they even got off their horses that night. She was the first asleep when they had made camp for the night. Sandor laid on his cloak on one side of the fire, Lenore a bit away from him, and Arya on the opposite side of the fire, on a blanket Lenore had gotten for a copper at a market they passed. She had also bought a bunch of apples and some bread.  
“Quit being ridiculous, Lenore, come lay next to me,” Sandor encouraged when she tossed and turned in the grass.  
“I’ll just get your cloak bloody,” she muttered and shut her eyes.  
“You know me well enough to know I couldn’t care less.”   
“I don’t want to,” she said harshly. Sandor shrugged and stopped bugging her, but when she fell asleep he moved her anyway, placing her next to him on the dirty cloak.

Arya had fallen asleep first, but she also woke up first. Next to her was a large rock. She got up, grabbed the rock, and snuck over to where Lenore and the Hound were still sleeping. Despite how angry Lenore had been with him last night, she was now cradled in his arms. Arya wished she hadn’t been, it would make this easier. Lenore wasn’t on her list. Only the Hound. She raised the rock with shaking hands.  
“I’ll give you one try, girl,” the Hound said. Shit, Arya thought, he was awake. He opened his eyes and turned his head to face her. His hand instinctively came up to shield Lenore’s head. “Kill me, and you’re free. But if I live, I’ll break both your hands. Go on, hit me. Hit me hard.” The Hound waited for Arya to hit him. But she didn’t. She dropped the big rock on the ground, causing Lenore to wake up and shoot up with a startled gasp, her hand going to her sword. She drew her hand back when she realised what was happening. Arya walked back to her blanket angrily.  
They didn’t make a new fire that morning, they just shared some bread before it was time to ride again. Arya was back on Stranger in front of the Hound and she couldn’t have looked angrier about it. Neither could Stranger, actually.  
“Toss me one of those apples,” Sandor said to Lenore when they had been riding a while, finally reaching a clearing, getting out of that big forest. Lenore reached in her bag and tossed him an apple. He even offered part of it to Arya, who just ignored him. “Sulk all you want,” he scolded, mouth full of apple. “Truth is, you’re lucky. You don’t want to be alone out here, girl. Someone worse than me would find you.”  
“There’s no one worse than you,” Arya protested. Lenore almost chuckled out loud.  
“Ha, you never knew my brother,” Sandor responded. “He once killed a man for snoring. There’s plenty worse than me. There’s men who like to beat little girls. Men who like to rape them. Saved your sister from some of them,” he said, and Arya turned her head, confused.  
“You’re lying.”   
“Ask her, if you ever see her again. Ask her who came back for her. When the mob had her on her back,” Sandor said. Arya looked at Lenore, who nodded.  
“It’s true. She told me,” she said. Then Sandor continued.  
“They would have taken her every which way and left her there with her throat cut open.” Arya didn’t respond, and soon, Stranger stopped, and they could all look out on the open water.  
“Is that the Blackwater?” Arya asked.  
“The Blackwater!? Where do you think we’re taking you?” Sandor responded. It occured to Lenore that they hadn’t told Arya where they were going, she probably thought they were going to-  
“Back to King’s Landing! To Joffrey and the queen.” There was question in Arya’s voice.   
“Fuck Joffrey, fuck the queen. That’s the Red Fork. We’re taking you to the Twins,” Sandor explained. Lenore felt guilty for not telling the girl. She had spent a whole day thinking she was going to get handed back to the family who murdered her father.  
“But why?” she asked and looked utterly bewildered.  
“Because your mother and brother will be there. And they’ll pay us for you,” Sandor said simply.  
“Why would they be at the Twins?” she asked, and Sandor laughed and shook his head.  
“Those outlaws you love so much never told you… The whole countryside’s yapping about it. Your uncle is marrying one of the Frey girls. So quit trying to bash my skull in, and we might just make it there in time for the wedding.” Lenore thought she saw the faintest of smiles on Arya’s lips, and it made her happy. The girl deserved to be reunited with her family.


	17. Hog farmeer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is really short, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

The view was beautiful and a welcome change from the forest, forest and more forest they had seen for days now. They kept riding until Sandor spotted a hog farmer who had trouble with his cart. Sandor was first off his horse, lifting Arya down after. Lenore stayed on Windrunner watching. Sandor pointed his finger at Arya.  
“Remember what happens to children who run. I’m your father, and I’ll do the talking,” he said. He handed Arya Stranger’s reins, and surprisingly the horse didn’t protest when she took them, then Sandor approached the hog farmer.  
“Roads have gone right to hell, haven’t they? Cracked three sporks this morning.” the man said to Sandor.  
“Need a hand?” he asked back.  
“Need about eight hands,” the hog farmer said, but Sandor, strong as he was, lifted the cart up all on his own. Lenore licked her lips at the sight. “Got to get this salt pork to the Twins in time for the wedding!” the farmer said and fastened the wheel to the cart. Sandor set the cart back down. “Many thanks.” Suddenly, Sandor punched the hog farmer in the face and he fell to the ground, unconscious. Sandor got out his dagger to stab the man, but suddenly Arya ran in front of him, putting her hands on his chest, stopping him.   
“Don’t!” she insisted. “Don’t kill him!”  
“Dead rats don’t squeak,” Sandor muttered.  
“You’re so dangerous, aren’t you? Saying scary things to little girls. Killing little boys and old people. A real hard man you are,” Arya said, voice laced with distaste and a frown on her face.  
“More than anyone you know,” Sandor said simply.  
“You’re wrong. I know a killer. A real killer.”   
“That so?”  
“You’d be like a kitten to him. He’d kill you with his little finger.” Sandor seemed unimpressed.  
“That him?” he asked, nodding to the unconscious hog farmer.  
“No?” Arya said, confused almost.  
“Good,” Sandor growled and started walking forward again, but Arya pushed him back with all her power.  
“Don’t kill him! Please!” She switched strategy. “Please don’t.” Sandor stared at her angrily, but put his dagger back in its sheath.  
“You’re very kind. Some day, it’ll get you killed,” he told the girl, and the hog farmer started stirring again, waking up. He sat up with a long groan, and Arya picked up a log from the ground, hitting him in the head with it, knocking him out again, then stomping back to the horses angrily. Sandor looked after her, totally perplexed. Lenore was surprised too.  
“How did I end up with  _ two  _ extremely violent travel companions?” she asked, mostly to herself. Sandor ripped the brown cloak off of the knocked out hog farmer, fastening it on himself, then he stole the cart and attached it to Stranger. He lifted Arya up on the horse again before getting up himself.  
“Come on,” he said, clicking his tongue at Stranger who started walking. Lenore didn’t have to make Windrunner follow, he was already so used to following Stranger by now that he did it on his own. The next time they stopped was still near the Red Fork, but now they could see the twins. Arya was staring across the river, anxiously watching the towers. Sandor was sitting on the edge of the carriage, devouring the hogs, Lenore on the grass next to him, leaning against his leg, with a piece of hog of her own. Arya walked up to them and glared at Sandor.  
“No one’s going to believe you’re a hog farmer if you eat them all,” she spat. Sandor dangled the piece of meat in front of her.  
“Best part of the animal,” he said, tossing a discarded piece onto the cart behind him. Arya turned around and continued looking at the towers. “Don’t worry, they’re still there,” Sandor said when he noticed. Arya turned again and glared at him.  
“I know they’re still there.”  
“You check every five minutes like you’re afraid they’re gonna move,” he said, his mouth and hands full of pig.  
“I’m not afraid,” Arya snapped.  
“‘Course you are. You’re almost there. And you’re afraid you won’t make it. The closer you get, the worse the fear gets.” Of course he was right, Lenore knew it too. Arya knew it, but she suppressed it. Sandor leaned forward. “No point in trying to hide behind that face. I know fear when I see it. Seen it a lot.” He leaned back and continued eating.  
“I knew fear when I saw it in you,” Arya said. “You’re afraid of fire.” Sandor stopped eating, and Lenore raised her head to watch this conversation unfold. Arya continued. “When Beric’s sword went up in flames you looked like a scared little girl. And I know why too,” she said, walking closer to him. He was so tall and she was so small that even as he sat and she stood, they were almost the same height. “I heard what your brother did to you. Pressed your face to the fire like you were a nice, juicy mutton-chop.” Lenore recalled when Petyr Baelish had told that story to Sansa at the Hand’s tourney. She had sat next to him, and Arya next to Sansa. Of course she had heard it too.  
“That give you some ideas?” Sandor asked.  
“Might do,” Arya said and turned away from him again. He shook his head.  
“Go ahead then,” he said and resumed eating. “Might get away. Might even make it there on your own. They’re just over the river. Closest you’ve been to family since Ilyn Payne snipped your daddy’s neck,” he said harshly.   
“Sandor!” Lenore slapped his leg and glared at him for being so abrasive. He just gave her a shrug. Arya came walking back to him.  
“Some day, I’m gonna put a sword through your eye, and out the back of your skull,” she said calmly. The look Sandor gave her was a strange one. It was almost as if he was impressed with her. Then she walked away again. Lenore smiled slightly to herself. She imagined if Sandor ever had children, he would want them to be fierce, angry little killers like Arya. Lenore finished her pig trotter, discarded the bone and got up. She picked a piece of meat out of Sandor’s beard and flicked it away before walking up to Arya.  
“Come on,” she said, patting Arya’s arm lightly. “You need a distraction.” Lenore and Arya found two sticks, and together they practised fighting with them. Arya’s sword had been stolen by one of the Lannister men she had met at Harrenhal, she told Lenore, a man named Polliver. The two girls fought until Sandor came up to them and told them they should keep going. Arya grinned at Lenore and bowed, as if thanking her for a good fight. Lenore bowed back and they threw the sticks away.  
“Bunch of girls…” Sandor muttered. When they continued riding, Arya didn’t have to sit on Stranger’s neck anymore, she rode on the cart with the pigs. They rode non stop until they finally reached the Twins.


	18. Rains of Castamere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy f*uck this chapter killed me to write... a reunion with Roose Bolton and a beautiful wedding, what could go wrong?

It was dark when they arrived, and they could hear music coming from inside the castle. Stark men and Frey men were sitting outside, eating and drinking. Sandor had pulled the hood of the cloak over his head so he wouldn’t be recognised. He rode up with the cart until he was stopped by a man carrying a torch, questioning about where they were going.  
“Got salt pork for the feast,” Sandor said. Lenore stopped behind him, looking around. She perked her ears and listened to the music. They were playing Rains of Castamere… why?  
“The feast is over,” the torch-carrying Frey man said.  
“Doesn’t sound like it’s over,” Sandor protested.  
“If I tell you it’s over, it’s over. Turn this cart around and get the hell out of here,” the man ordered Sandor. Something was wrong. Lenore got off her horse and took in the surroundings. She was just about to tell Sandor that maybe they should leave, when her mouth was covered by a big hand and she was being dragged away. She reached for her sword but her arms were pulled behind her back, and she couldn’t scream or fight.  
Sandor gave up arguing with the man and turned to look back at Arya and Lenore. But neither of them were there. The cart was empty save for the hogs, and there was no one on Windrunner’s back. He cursed loudly, jumped off Stranger and started searching for both of the girls.  
Lenore was being dragged through the mud by two Frey men to behind a large rock.   
“Get off me!” she shouted and kicked the short man who was tugging at her clothes. He stumbled backwards and grunted something alike “you fucking whore”. The other man knocked her to the ground and straddled her with a foul grin on his face. While he struggled with his armour clad breeches Lenore managed to punch him in the face and turn them around so she was on top. She kept throwing punches at him until he passed out and she could no longer see his facial features because of all the blood. She grunted and wiped the blood of her hand when the short man grabbed her again, this time around the neck so she couldn’t reach him or escape. She started choking and panic whelmed over her.  
Sandor roamed around the ground, watching in horror as the Stark men and Frey man fought each other, they Freys killing most of the Starks. A bit away from his he heard the sound of a wolf dying. He followed that sound, and not long after, he spotted Arya running towards the castle. He caught up with her, grabbing her shoulder.  
“It’s too late,” he said, and when she tried to run he knocked her out with a punch to the neck. He carried her back to the cart, placing her on Stranger’s back and then went searching for Lenore.  
Just when she thought it might be over for her, Lenore glimpsed a familiar man just ten to fifteen meters away.  
“Bolton!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. The short man covered her mouth to shut her up but she bit him as hard as she could and screamed again, and this time he heard her. The short man cursed and ran away when Roose Bolton came running towards them. Lenore coughed and got onto her knees. She spat on the ground and struggled to breathe. Then a pair of cold arms wrapped around her and she realised she was standing up again.  
“Roose…” she mumbled weakly while working up her strength.  
“Lenore, my sweet, it’s been so long. What are you doing here?” he asked in that silky smooth voice that had made Lenore’s bones melt with infatuation. It wasn’t until then that she realised what a big crush she used to have on the man. She gathered herself and took a deep breath.  
“I was passing by and heard about the wedding. I wanted to know if it was true. What’s happened?” her eyes wandered around the fiery bloodbath around them, but no one was close to them. She looked back at Roose and read his face. “What have you done?” she asked carefully and took her hands off his chest, but he was still holding her tight by her arms.  
“The wolf king betrayed Lord Frey, the Lannisters saw a chance to get rid of some Starks, and I… I looked after myself as I always have.”   
“What did you do?” Lenore’s voice hardened, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer. The touch of the man she’d once yearned for was now giving her gooseflesh in the worst way possible. Roose held her tighter and put his lips to her ear.  
“I drove a dagger through Robb Stark’s heart,” he said calmly and pulled away to look at her again. Her eyebrows showed her dejected facial expression.  
“Why?” she asked softly.  
“You are more beautiful the ever,” Roose trailed off and stroked her arms, “but what happened to your hair?” he mumbled and slowly ran his hand through her almost white, messy curls, making Lenore shiver.  
“Get away from me… Traitor.”  
“Why do you care, what have you got to do with the Starks?”   
“Let me go, Roose,” Lenore’s voice was broken but still soft. Lord Bolton moved his hand to her cheek and brought his cold lips to her warm ones. Like when she was eleven, she didn’t return the kiss, but this time it wasn’t due to lack of experience, but due to disgust. All she could think about was Sansa and Arya. A tear ran down the cheek Roose had his hand on, and when he felt it, he let go of her.  
“I should have taken you back then,” he murmured, “I should have raped you and taken you back to the Dreadfort. I should have made you my wife. Gods know you’re prettier than all of the ones I’ve had… Goodbye, little Lenore,” he said with a smile and walked away. Lenore just stood there in shock, until someone grabbed her and flung her over their shoulder and carried her away.  
Sandor was outraged, he had seen the whole thing. Roose fucking Bolton saving his silver haired damsel in distress, and in her daze, he’d stolen a kiss from her. Though she didn’t look too distraught about it, she hadn’t moved away. Sandor dug his nails into her thighs as hard as he could and heard her whimper quietly. What the hell was wrong with her? He lifted her onto Windrunner’s back, cut the carriage loose from Stranger’s reins and climbed onto his back with Arya in front of him, grabbed a Frey banner and squeezed Stranger’s sides with his feet and they started riding, Windrunner following tightly despite Lenore being too out of it to steer the horse. What he saw next shocked him, and there weren’t many things that could shock the Hound. A bunch of Frey men were cheering and shouting.  
“The King in the North, King in the North, King in the North!” they jeered, while leading a horse carrying what was supposedly Robb Stark’s body, with the head cut off and replaced with the head of his direwolf. Sandor wished Arya hadn’t seen this, but unfortunately she had woken up to do just that. He was disgusted, and felt so sorry for Arya. He turned Stranger around and rode off.  
Lenore was barely aware of what she was doing, she was in such a deep state of shock. Luckily, Windrunner followed Stranger on his own accord. She felt like her blood was frozen, she was so petrified. She had seen the wolf’s head on Robb’s body. And she was angry. Angry with Roose Bolton, she hated him. Hated, hated, hated him and the ruined image she now had of him. They rode and rode until they were far away from the Twins. Sandor was going to get off his horse, but he found that Arya was still clutching him tight. She had been hugging him non-stop since she saw her brother’s body. So Sandor sat still, awkwardly letting the girl hug him.  
Lenore slipped off her horse, but she quickly found that her legs wouldn’t carry her, and she fell to her knees. She took a few deep breaths and looked to Arya. The girl with tears in her eyes clutching Sandor tightly gave Lenore strength. She found it in herself to get up.  
“Arya,” she said softly, approaching them on the horse. Arya looked at her with a sob. She held out her arms, allowing Arya to get off the horse and into her arms. She hugged the girl tightly and led her into the forest grove where the wind wasn’t as strong. Sandor hurried up to them, laying out the brown cloak and white cloak next to each other. The two girls sat down, still holding each other tightly, and Sandor looked at them.  
“I’ll be honest with you, Lenore, I don’t know how to handle this,” he said. Lenore looked up at him with her big blue eyes.  
“Handle what?”  
“Two emotional girls. I barely fucking know how to handle you alone. Now there’s two of you,” he said, gesturing with his hands to them.  
“That’s because you’re emotionally constipated… just… just make a fire,” she said softly. Sandor nodded and did as she suggested. All the meanwhile he tried - and failed - to get the image of Roose Bolton kissing his wife out of his head.  
Arya stared into the fire and didn’t listen to what Lenore and the Hound were speaking about.  
“She has an aunt in the Eyrie… We could take her there,” Lenore suggested. Sandor nodded.  
“Aye. But for now let’s get some sleep.” Lenore agreed. She poked Arya’s arm, and the girl whipped her head around to look at Lenore.  
“Sleep,” Lenore said softly but simply.  
“I don’t know if I can,” Arya mumbled. Lenore stroked Arya’s hair and wiped away a tear from her cheek.  
“You’ve got to try,” she said and smiled sympathetically. Arya agreed and laid down on one of the cloaks, Sandor and Lenore on the other.  
In Lenore’s dream, he came to her. The kingsguard in his golden uniform. He took her from the garden into his own chamber, beat her and did unspeakable things to her. She tried to scream, but her voice was too weak, she tried to run, but never reached the door. She fought him, she cried, she hated him.  
“Lenore, look at me!” With a panicked cry, Lenore woke up. A big pair of arms were wrapped around her, shaking her into consciousness. She tried to hit him, but looked upon his face and realised that it wasn’t Meryn Trant, it was Sandor Clegane, her Hound.  
“S-Sandor…” she cried, burying her face in his chest. His hands came to stroke her back. “It was him, it- I- I was nine again and he, Trant, he…”  
“Hush girl,” Sandor said softly and rocked Lenore in his arms, resting his chin in her hair. He noticed Arya was awake, just laying on the cloak watching the two of them with a weird face. She was surprised at how the Hound cradled his young wife in his arms, stroking her hair as she calmed down from her nightmare. She never imagined he could comfort anyone, yet she had clung to him yesterday, and Lenore was doing it now.


	19. Murder lists

Lenore had shaken off her nightmare and was almost feeling like herself. She was riding behind Sandor and Arya through the woods when they heard people, men, laughing. There were four of them, one standing, doing an imitation of some sort.  
“Sounded like a cow in heat,” the man finished and sat down.  
“Black Walder shut her up right quick. None of the Starks had much to say about the end of that meal.” They were Freys, Lenore realised. They were talking about the wedding turned massacre. Once they started talking about how they had put the wolf’s head on Robb Stark’s body, Arya slipped off of Stranger’s back, walking up to the men. Sandor and Lenore stopped their horses and watched what was happening.  
“You sewed it on?” one of the men asked the first one.   
“I did.”   
“I bet there were a thousand men claiming they were the one!”   
“It was me! And Malcom, and Talbert…” The men laughed. The first man continued talking without realising Arya was behind him. When the other three men were quiet and looked at her, the first man noticed too and turned around.  
“What do you want?” he asked.  
“Mind if I keep warm?” Arya asked sweetly.   
“Fuck off,” one of the men groaned.  
“But I’m hungry,” she insisted, so innocent sounding.  
“Does fuck off mean something different where you’re from?” the first man asked angrily, drinking wine from his wineskin.  
“I’ve got money,” she said, and now she seemed to get through to them. She reached in her pouch and took out a coin, holding it out to the man.  
“What kind of coin is that?” he asked skeptically.   
“It’s worth a lot,” Arya said. When the man reached for it, she dropped it. “Sorry.”   
“You little shit,” the man said and bent down to pick it up. Quickly, Arya pulled out a knife and stuck it in his back, stabbing him over and over again. Sandor and Lenore both reacted fast, jumping off their horses and running towards Arya and the Frey men. The three other men were pulling out their swords, but Sandor was there first, pushing Arya out of harm’s way.  
Two of the men swung at Sandor, and one at Lenore. Sandor had beaten both of his opponents in a matter of seconds, cutting them both down. Lenor struggled a little more, but eventually got in a kick in his belly that made him fall to the ground, and she slit his throat with her dragon sword. Sandor walked up behind Arya.  
“Where did you get the knife?” he asked. Arya held up the bloody knife.  
“From you,” she said, and Sandor looked down, seeing that his knife sheath was indeed empty. He grabbed the knife from her.  
“Is that the first man you’ve killed?” he asked.   
“The first man,” Arya confirmed. Sandor leaned in to scold her.  
“Next time you’re going to do something like that, tell me first!” he said before he want to it down by the Frey men’s fire, eating their rabbit. Lenore joined him.  
“‘Tell me first?’  _ That’s _ your tactic?” she questioned with a raised eyebrow. Sandor shrugged and tore off a piece of rabbit, handing it to her. She took it and ate it, watching as Arya picked up the coin she had dropped. They all shared the rabbit before they left, leaving the Frey mess behind.  
That night, Arya came to sit next to Lenore on the cloak. Sandor was not nearby, he had gone to get some privacy.  
“This morning…” she said, seemingly stumbling over her words. “Your nightmare. It was about Ser Meryn Trant, wasn’t it?” she asked. Lenore nodded.  
“He’s on my list,” Arya continued.  
“You have a kill list?” Lenore asked curiously.   
“Yes.”   
“So do I,” Lenore said with a smile. Arya’s face almost lit up a little.  
“Who’s on yours?” she asked.  
“Cersei. Joffrey. Jaime. Tywin. Meryn Trant. Ilyn Payne. Janos Slynt. The Mountain.”  
“We should go on a killing spree. Most of those people are on my list as well. Why is ser Meryn on yours? What did he do to you?” Arya asked, and Lenore sighed.  
“He raped me when I was nine years old. He dragged me off the street, took me into an empty room… then he beat me with a stick and made me dance for him before he… well,” she finished, not wanting repeat it again. Arya looked at her sympathetically.  
“I’m sorry,” she said. Lenore smiled sadly.  
“It’s fine, mostly. But occasionally I’m reminded of it and I’ll dream of it. I think seeing Roose Bolton sparked some memory of… of bad men in my life. I don’t know. Why’s Meryn on  _ your  _ list?” she asked the young girl.  
“He killed my friend, my dancing master.”  
“He’s an absolute cunt and I’ll cheer the day he dies. Hopefully painfully. Ilyn Payne too, he did the same thing to me as Trant did. Except the dancing and stick beating. I did stab him in the eye when leaving King’s Landing, though I wish I would have killed him.”   
“You stabbed him the eye!?” Arya asked with wide eyes. She almost looked jealous.  
“You’re a murderous little girl, aren’t you?” Lenore asked with a smile. Arya smiled back coyly.  
“Only to the ones who deserve it.” Lenore laughed, and then Sandor returned.  
“What are you two conspiring about?” he asked gruffly, but he looked amused. Lenore and Arya exchanged a look, and Arya answered.  
“Who we’re going to murder.” Sandor gave a laugh.  
“I look forward to seeing that. You gonna team up on Joffrey?” he asked.  
“Why not?” Arya suggested. Sandor snorted.  
“I’m fucking hungry…” he muttered and sat down. Lenore looked at him apologetically. There were days when they barely ate. Today had been one of those days. After the stolen Frey rabbit this morning they hadn’t found anymore food all day.  
“You could eat Joffrey’s corpse,” Arya said with a tiny smile. Lenore grimaced.  
“That’s awful!” she exclaimed. Arya shrugged.  
“You don’t like him, do you?” she asked Sandor.  
“No one likes him. He made me marry  _ her _ ,” he said, nodding towards Lenore, who threw a pebble at him in response, playing offended.  
“Lenore’s better than you could ever hope for! She’s strong, brave, fierce, clever. And pretty. She’s the one who should be bitter. She’s a hundred times better than what you deserve,” Arya defended. Lenore felt all warm on the inside after those comments. Sandor grinned.  
“Aye, she is,” he said. “Yet she was the one who came into  _ my  _ chamber and begged  _ me  _ to fuck  _ her.  _ Not the other way around.” Lenore blushed and looked at the ground.  
“What?” Arya asked, staring at Lenore, confunded.  
“Oh she never told you that part, did she?” Sandor asked triumphantly and grinned. “That’s why Joffrey made us marry in the first place. Thought it would torture her. And I suppose in some ways it did.”  
“He’s not here now. Why are you still together if you don’t want to?” Arya asked, looking between them. Lenore looked away awkwardly.  
“I have to make water,” she mumbled and hurried away. Sandor and Arya looked after her as she disappeared. Sandor shrugged and Arya chuckled.  
They continued riding for weeks, slowly but surely coming closer to the Vale. Not seldom while riding through the forest they came across dead bodies. They didn’t even flinch upon seeing them any longer. This day they saw an older lady sprawled across an old wheelbarrow. It was grotesque and it made Lenore purse her lips. Arya and Sandor didn’t seem to react, they were talking about something else.  
“When am I going to get a horse on my own?” she asked, clearly tired of sitting in Stranger’s neck trapped in Sandor’s arms.  
“Little lady wants a pony,” Sandor mocked.  
“Little lady wants away from your stench,” Arya muttered, and Lenore let out a snort-like laugh.  
“Horses aren’t easy to come by. Even if they were, you think I’m gonna put you on your own horse? Watch the only thing of value I’ve got in the world ride away. Meaning no offence, Lenore, but most people don’t know you exist,” he said. Lenore chuckled.  
“Why don’t you have any money? Didn’t you steal anything from Joffrey before you left?”   
“No. I had money, but the bloody Brotherhood stole it, remember? And I’m not a thief.”  
“You’re not very smart, are you?” Arya questioned.   
“I’m not a thief,” Sandor repeated.  
“You’re fine with murdering little boys, but thieving is beneath you?” Arya wasn’t impressed, and Sandor shrugged.  
“Man’s gotta have a code,” he said. Arya changed the topic back.  
“You still think I’m gonna escape,” she said, more a statement than a question. “Where would I go? I’d be dead by nightfall without you two, my family is gone, I’ve got no one.”   
“You’ve got an aunt in the Vale. A rich aunt Lysa,” Sandor said, and Arya turned to look at him, then at Lenore.  
“How long have you planned to take me there?” she asked.  
“Few weeks,” Lenore answered.  
“Why don’t you two ever tell me things?” Arya asked, glaring at Lenore, who chuckled.  
“Sorry,” she said and smiled at the girl who rolled her eyes. Sandor continued talking.  
“After we sell you to her, she might have enough left over to buy you that pony you want so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying this story, feedback and reviews are much appreciated!


	20. Flea Bottom whore

“I’m hungry. You’re hungry. Lenore’s hungry,” Arya said, looking through the bush at the tavern.  
“Five horses, five men. More than I feel like killing on an empty stomach,” Sandor said back. Lenore didn’t have any money left by now. Two men came out through the door, and Arya tensed up.  
“I know him,” she said. “The small one. His name is Polliver. He captured us and took us to Harrenhal. He killed Lommy.”  
“What the fuck’s a Lommy?” Sandor asked. Lenore rolled her eyes at him. Both men took their cocks out to take a piss.  
“He was my friend,” Arya said. “Polliver stole my sword and put it right through his neck. He’s still got it.”  
“Got what?” Sandor muttered.  
“My sword. Needle.”  
“Needle,” Sandor mocked. “‘Course you named your sword…”  
“Lots of people name their swords.” Arya got defensive immediately.  
“Lots of cunts.”  
Suddenly, Arya moved, walking away with determined steps. It took Sandor a moment to notice but when he did, he looked surprised and annoyed.  
“What are you… get back here!” he whisper-screamed and ran after the girl, his chainmail clinking. Lenore followed.  
“My brother gave me that sword,” Arya said decisively.  
“Get back here,” Sandor growled again, catching up with her.  
“He killed my friend!” Sandor grabbed her shoulder and got in front of her.  
“I don’t care if he ate your friend!” The door opened and Lenore was about to warn them. “We’re not going in the-” Sandor noticed the man exiting the tavern. The man looked Sandor up and down, and he looked awkward. Arya and Lenore looked at each other before looking back to Sandor waiting for him to take charge. It was almost like he was their flock leader, Lenore thought. The man wearing Lannister armour backed into the tavern again, and Sandor entered, having to duck to avoid hitting his head, with Lenore and Arya following closely. Lenore felt uneasy in the presence of Lannister men-at-arms. One of the men had a struggling woman on her lap, clearly assaulting her. Lenore hated him already. Everyone quieted down when they entered the tavern, and they walked over to a table in the back, sitting down.  
The men started throwing the woman between themselves again. She was the tavern owner’s daughter, it appeared, because the tavern owner was pleading with the man named Polliver to stop.  
“Shut your mouth and pour us more ale, and we might not take her with us when we’re done wiv ‘er,” Polliver threatened. Lenore felt like her blood grew cold. Arya sat still as stone, and Sandor was removing his gloves. Polliver looked over to them. Lenore noticed that Arya felt uneasy. She thought the man would recognise her.  
“I know you,” Polliver suddenly said. Arya grabbed the handle of the Sandor’s sword. “You’re the Hound!” he exclaimed, and Arya let go of the handle when she realised she wasn’t the recognised one. Polliver grabbed his ale, got up and approached them. “Pour our new friend some ale!” he said and sat down. Polliver looked between the three and Lenore looked down at the table, suddenly really nervous.  
“What brings you so far north?” he asked the Hound. He was the only one of the three of them who didn’t seem uncomfortable.  
“I could ask the same of you,” he said. “What are you doing up here?”  
“Just keeping the king’s peace,” Polliver said and held out his arms, shrugging confidently.  
“No need, war’s over,” Sandor said. The tavern owner came up to them and poured them some ale.  
“So I’ve heard. Stannis defeated at the Blackwater, Robb Stark killed at the Twins, and where am I for all of it?” he asked, and Sandor started drinking his ale. “Stuck wiv your brother,” Polliver continued. “Meaning no offence.”  
“None taken,” Sandor replied, taking a moment away from his ale mug.  
“He’s good, the Mountain is, the best at what he does. But… torture, torture, torture, torture…” Lenore thought all Polliver’s talking was torture. “You spend enough time putting the hammer to people, you start to feel like a carpenter making chairs. Drains the fun righ’ out of it! And what’s life without a little fun? Hehe.” Then he looked at Arya, who was glaring at him. “But I don’t need to tell you that, eh?” he asked with a chuckle. Sandor looked at Arya.  
“She’s alright,” he said, then nodded to Lenore. “This one’s better.”  
Lenore felt sick when Polliver’s eyes turned to her. He laughed, but then his smile slowly fell.  
“You’re that Targaryen girl they’re talkin’ ‘bout, aren’t ya?” he asked, and Lenore’s guts seemed to drop. She quickly adopted her very best Flea Bottom accent.  
“No Ser, don’t know nothin’ about no Targaryen girl. Me name’s Marei,” she said. It was the first name she thought of. Polliver seemed to chew on her statement.  
“You a whore, Marei?” he asked. Lenore glanced up at Sandor, then nodded slowly while looking at the table. “Look at me, girl,” Polliver said and she looked up coyly. “You’re pretty.” He looked back to Sandor. “You’ve got good taste,” he praised. What a stupid man he was, Lenore thought.  
“I know,” Sandor said simply.  
“You know what? You should come wiv us,” Polliver suggested. He pointed the tavern owner. “His kind, they’ve always got something hidden away somewhere. Gold, silver, more daughters. Always something if ya know how to make ‘em talk. And there’s plenty of in between ‘ere and King’s Landing,” he said and leaned back. “You could do well for yourself. We certainly ‘ave been.” Sandor looked down, seemingly considering the offer. Arya looked worried.   
“I’m not going to King’s Landing,” Sandor said and looked up again.  
“Well think about it, we could do whatever we like, wherever we go!” He pointed at his leather armour. “These are the king’s colours! No one’s standin’ in ‘is way now, which means no one’s standin’ in ours!” he finished. Sandor leaned forward.  
“Fuck the king,” he spat. The tavern immediately got quiet. Arya had the smallest smirk on her face. Lenore bit her lip anxiously. Sandor drank his ale.  
“When I heard that Joffrey’s dog ‘ad tucked tail and run from the battle of the Blackwater, I didn’t believe it. But here you are.”  
“Here I am,” Sandor said matter-of-factly and set his mug down. “Bring me one of those chickens.”  
“You got money to pay for it?”  
“You paid for it,” he said, and Polliver chuckled.  
“No,” he said and shook his head. “But we’re the king’s men.” Sandor took Lenore’s untouched ale mug and drank from it. “So…You got money?” Polliver continued.   
“Not a penny,” the Hound said, almost proudly. “I’ll still take that chicken.”  
“Tell you what. We’ll trade ya,” Polliver suggested. Lenore didn’t like where this was heading. “One of our little chickens, for one of yours. Give us a go at one of your friends. You choose which one. Lowell there likes them a bit broken in,” he said and pointed to his friend who waved his chicken bone. Arya looked worried, as if she actually thought the Hound might agree to it. She did think so, Lenore realised. Arya actually thought Sandor might let Polliver’s men rape her in exchange for chicken. It broke Lenore’s heart, and in that moment she vowed to herself that each of these men would die painfully. Sandor chewed on his lower lip as he looked at the man in front of him.  
“You’re a talker. Listening to talkers makes me thirsty,” he said, reaching over and taking Polliver’s cup, chugging all of the ale before setting the cup down. “And hungry. Think I’ll take two chickens.” Polliver looked to his men, seemingly uncomfortable, before turning back to the Hound.  
“You don’t seem to understand the situation.”  
“I understand that if any more words come pouring out your cunt mouth, I’m gonna have to eat every fucking chicken in this room.” Lenore felt kind of proud of her husband in this moment.  
“You lived your life for the king, you gonna die for some chickens?” Polliver asked. Die? Oh, this was turning into a fight, Lenore realised.  
“Someone is,” the Hound said. There was a long moment of intense silence and aggressive eye contact. Suddenly, Polliver got up, drew his sword, but Sandor reached under the table and flipped it over, pushing it over Polliver so that he fell backwards.  
Grabbing his sword, Sandor marched forward, punching the first guy who approached him so hard in the face he fell over. Arya stayed in the corner and watched, and Lenore ran over to the tavern owner and his daughter, quickly ushering them upstairs to safety. All the meanwhile she heard the clashing of steel, and the loud grunts Sandor made when he hit someone. When they were safely upstairs, Lenore told them to stay there, then she jumped back down, her sword clutched in her hand. She landed on the man she had first wanted to kill, the one who assaulted the daughter. He was already bleeding from a cut from Sandor’s sword, and before he could attack Lenore, she drove her sword through his chest.  
She ran back to Arya, making sure to protect her if anyone was to come near her. Together they watched as the Hound fought all the Lannister men-at-arms on his own. He was doing brilliantly until of the men kicked him in the back and he fell. The men all pounced, kicking him hard, and Lenore felt she had to act again, but Arya grabbed her wrist and held her back. It didn’t take long before Sandor was on his feet again, punching yet another guy in the face, and the other in the nuts, shoving him into the wall. It was brutal, watching the fight, and Lenore flinched when Sandor used one man’s sword to stab the other right up his crotch. Suddenly though, the man had Sandor on his back with a knife to his throat, but Sandor grabbed his hand and brought his own hand up to the man’s face, slowly but surely gaining control of both of them. He brought the man’s face closer and closer to the knife which was now angled upwards. Panic spread on the man’s face, and Sandor put the knife right through his eye, once, twice, three times.  
By now, Polliver and one more man were both getting up, and Arya released her hold of Lenore’s wrist, instead grabbing a large clay pot, lifting it and smashing it over one man’s head with a grunt. Lenore’s eyes widened as she watched Arya grab the longsword and put it through the man’s chest. She ran up to Polliver who was about to attack Sandor from behind, and she sliced his back up, making him fall to the ground, but before he did she took her own sword from his belt. He rolled over and stared at Arya. Out of the corner of her eye, Lenore saw Sandor kill the last man, then she looked back to see what Arya was doing with Polliver.  
“Something wrong with your leg, boy?” she asked, approaching Polliver slowly. She looked so powerful right now.  
“W-wha- what do you mean?” Polliver asked, blood coming from his mouth.  
“Can you walk? I gotta carry you?”  
“Carry me?” Polliver seemed confused. Arya looked at her sword, her Needle.  
“Fine little blade.” She put the sword to Polliver’s throat. “Maybe I’ll pick my teeth with it,” she said, and Polliver’s eyes widened, but just as he was going to speak, Arya smoothly stuck the sword through his neck, and blood pooled from his mouth as he died. The look of satisfaction on her face was almost scary, and she wiped the sword clean.  
When they left the tavern that day, they did it on three horses. Sandor got his chicken, and Arya got her horse, a beautiful white mare. Before they left, Lenore had also gone around and taken all the men’s money pouches, giving half of their money to the tavern owner to try to compensate him for the trouble, and keeping the other half for herself. She didn’t fancy the life of not eating every day, and now they had much more money to buy food. And so, their journey continued for another few weeks.  
The sky was dark, not because it was night but because bad weather was incoming. Sandor was taking a piss and Lenore and Arya were picking radishes that were growing on the hill.  
“Gonna rain soon,” Arya said and stood up. “Where are we?” she asked Sandor who was tying his breeches and approaching them. He looked around.  
“Near Fairmarket. I think.”  
“You think? You don’t have a map?” Arya asked skeptically, starting to walk downhill.  
“No I don’t have a map,” Sandor responded gruffly.  
“Maybe we should get one?”  
“Aye just point out the next map shop you see and I’ll buy you one,” he muttered, losing his patience. They were all back down with the horses, next to a big stone wall. Arya sat down on a rock while Sandor stood next to Stranger. Lenore sat down next to Arya.  
“How far is it to the Eyrie?” Arya asked.  
“Far,” Sandor muttered back, dipping a leather bag into the pond to water the horses with. Lenore had grown to love listening to the two of them bicker.  
“And you’re sure we’re going the right way?”  
“Believe me, girl, I want you there as soon as I can. Get our gold, be on our way.”  
“On your way where?” Arya asked.  
“Why do you care?” Sandor snapped, looking around to Arya. She shrugged. Lenore smiled, she had her suspicions that Arya didn’t actually hate the Hound as much as she let on.  
“We’re going to book passage across the Narrow Sea,” Sandor said while stroking Stranger’s neck. “Not sure where we’re going then. But we’re going to find her sister.” He nodded towards Lenore who smiled, mouth full of radish.  
“Last I heard she was liberating slaves in Astapor,” Lenore chimed in. Arya nodded.  
“I want to see Braavos some day,” she said.  
“Why Braavos?” Sandor asked and blew out a booger from his nose.  
“I have friends there,” Arya said, looking disgusted.  
“Doubt it,” Sandor grunted.  
“Seven blessings to you,” a man’s voice came from above them. All three of them looked up. A man was riding a horse cart with his daughter.  
“What do you want?” Sandor asked gruffly.  
“What do I want? This is my land,” the man said.  
“If I’m standing on it, it’s my land,” Sandor retorted.  
“We were just watering the horses, we’ll be on our way,” Lenore explained, not loving the rough demeanour Sandor was speaking to the man who owned the land they were on. The man looked hesitant. Arya stood up.  
“Forgive our father,” she started. _Our _father!? Lenore thought. “He was wounded fighting in the war. Our cottage burnt down while he was gone, and my mother with it.” Well, the girl could lie. Sandor just watched her as she lied them all onto good terms with the man. “He’s never been the same,” Arya finished.  
“Which house did he fight for?” the man asked, leaning down a bit. Arya hesitated, thinking for a moment.  
“The Tullys of Riverrun,” she decided.  
“There’s a storm coming, you’ll be wanting a room tonight. There’s fresh hay in the barn, and Sally here makes rabbit stew just like her mum used to do,” the man said. He caught Sandor’s attention when he mentioned stew, and Lenore couldn’t help a small smile. The man looked at Sandor. “We don’t have much, but any man who bled for house Tully is welcome to it,” he said. Sandor looked impressed, and Arya smiled. And so they were getting shelter for the night.


	21. The worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms

Arya had carried on the lie. Sandor’s first wife and mother to Lenore was from across the Narrow Sea and had died birthing her, and Sandor had remarried, a Piper woman, who was Arya’s mother, but she called herself Arry instead of Arya. The three of them had been welcomed to the table, and in front of them was a big bowl of rabbit stew. The farmer man prayed.  
“We ask the Father to judge us with mercy, accepting our human frailty. We ask the Mother to bless our crops, so we may feed ourselves and all who come to our door. We ask the Warrior to give us courage, in these times of strife and turmoil.” Sandor, Lenore and Arya were sitting with their hands in prayer position, but they were all focused on the steaming bowl of stew, all of them ravenous. “We ask the Maiden to protect Sally’s virtue, and keep her from the clutches of depravity.”  
“You going to do all seven of the fuckers?” Sandor asked impatiently. Sally looked at him with uncertainty.  
“Father!” Arya scolded. Lenore kept from laughing. There was an awkward moment before the man continued his prayer.  
“We ask the Smith to strengthen our hands and our backs, so we may finish the work required of us. We ask the Crone to guide our journey from darkness, to darkness.”  
“And we ask the Stranger not to kill us in our beds tonight for no damn reason at all,” Sandor finished hurriedly and reached for the stew. Arya and Lenore both watched him in surprise as he poured stew into his bowl.  
“I’m so sorry,” Arya said and copied him, and Lenore in turn copied Arya. Sandor and Arya both gulped down the stew, pouring from the bowls into their mouths. Lenore was the only one who reached for the spoon. She watched her husband pretending to be her father devour the stew and thought,  _ wow, he devours that stew better than my cunt…  
_ Sally and her father watched them uncomfortably. Arya set her bowl down and looked at Sally.  
“Really good,” she said, and Sally gave her a weak smile.   
“It really is,” Lenore agreed.  
“Did you fight at the Twins?” Sally’s father asked Sandor.  
“You call that a fight? Slaughtering livestock more like.”   
“The Red Wedding, they’re calling it. Walder Frey committed sacrilege that day. He shared bread and salt with the Starks, he offered them guest rights.”   
“Guest rights don’t mean much anymore,” Sandor muttered.  
“It means something to me. The Gods will have their vengeance. Frey will burn in the Seventh Hell for what he did.” Arya made an agreeing face to the farmer’s statement. “Things were different when Hoster Tully ruled the Riverlands. Well we had good years and bad years, same as anyone, but we were safe. Now with the Freys, raiders come plundering. Steal our food, steal our silver. I was gonna send Sally north to stay with my brother, but the north is no better. The whole country’s gone sour,” he said. Sandor looked at the man.  
“You got any ale?” he asked. Lenore sighed at his manners. The man chuckled.  
“Afraid not.”   
“How can a man not keep ale in his home?” Sandor asked and looked sour himself. Sally just looked at him with her big blue eyes, and he took a bite of bread instead.  
“You look like you can really swing that sword,” the farmer continued. “A real warrior, proper training. Those raiders wouldn’t stand a chance against you,” he said, and Lenore once again found herself proud of Sandor. “How would it be if you stayed on until the new moon? I could use a man to help with the farmwork. Sally does what she can, but… she can’t lift a bale of hay. If any thieves came looking for easy pickings, one look at you, I bet they’d run the other way.” Sandor looked up, and Lenore and Arya looked at him. “Meaning no offense,” the farmer added. Sandor set his bread down.  
“What do you pay?” he asked.  
“I don’t have much. But I have hidden a bit of silver from the bandits. Fair wages for fair work?” the farmer suggested.  
“Fair wages for fair work,” Sandor agreed while nodding, causing both Lenore and Arya to look at him in shock. Just earlier this day he had said that he wanted Arya at the Eyrie as soon as possible, and now he was going to stay here and work until the new moon? They all smiled at each other awkwardly, and Arya poured herself some more stew.  
After they ate, they all helped the farmer with some work before they went to sleep. He didn’t have any extra beds, so Sandor, Lenore and Arya all slept in the barn. It wasn’t horrible, Lenore thought. Sandor fell asleep fast, and Lenore and Arya laid and talked for a bit.  
“Doesn’t it bother you that you’re young enough to pass for his daughter?” Arya asked, looking over to the snoring Hound. Lenore shook her head.  
“No, not really,” she said.  
“How can it not?” Arya frowned.  
“I’ve been treated worse by men with an even bigger age gap. By now I’m just grateful I got out of a bad situation and I’m with someone who treats me well.”  
“He doesn’t hit you or anything?” Arya asked.  
“No. He’s grumpy and rude sometimes, but he’s good to me. You’ve seen it,” Lenore said. Arya looked hesitant and shrugged.  
“It’s weird. One day he’s saying mean things and murdering innocent men and the next he’s… cuddling you through a nightmare and bringing you yarrow.” Lenore chuckled.  
“Yes, sweet thing, it’s weird. Go to sleep now…” she urged. They both turned around, and Lenore heard Arya recite her list before she fell asleep. The Hound wasn’t on it.   
The next morning, Lenore was pleading with Sandor.  
“You don’t have to do this!” she whisper-screamed as she ran after him outside.  
“Go ready the horses,” he growled at her and shoved her in that direction. Lenore huffed.  
“Arya’s going to hate you,” she snarled and ran away, up to the horses, getting them ready to ride. Stranger had grown more forgiving and trusting of her by now, even letting her saddle him, for which she was thankful. She frowned when heard grunts coming from behind her, and she heard Sally scream.  __ They’ll both be dead come winter…  she repeated to herself.  
“What did you do!?” she suddenly heard Arya’s angry voice. She was yelling at Sandor, who had punched the nice farmer and taken his money, and was now heading up to Lenore and the horses.  
“Get your horse saddled,” he muttered back and started counting the money.  
“You told me you weren’t a thief!”  
“I wasn’t.”   
“He took us in! He fed us! And you-”  
“Aye he took us in! He’s a good man, and his daughter makes a nice stew, and they’ll both be dead come winter,” Sandor interrupted. It was what he had told Lenore to convince her to let him do the thing in the first place.  
“You don’t know that!” Arya shouted.  
“I do know it!” Sandor shouted back and stopped, turning around to look at her. “He’s weak! He can’t protect himself. They’ll both be dead come winter. Dead men don’t need silver,” he said simply and started walking again, but stopped and turned when Arya screamed at him.  
“You’re the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms!”  
“Plenty worse than me. I just understand the way things are. How many Starks they gotta behead before you figure it out?” he asked and walked up to Lenore and the horses, leaving Arya standing with an angry scowl on her face, before she finally followed. She was angry with Lenore too for allowing Sandor to steal from the man. She let her know that several times throughout the day.  
The next night they made camp outdoors again, and there was no small talk before they went to sleep. Arya, who usually always waited until Sandor was asleep to recite her list, now didn’t bother. She was looking into the fire with an empty expression.  
“Joffrey. Cersei. Walder Frey. Meryn Trant. Tywin Lannister…” Sandor opened his eyes and looked annoyed, just listening to her. “The Red Woman. Beric Dondarrion. Thoros of Myr.” Now he turned his face to look at her. “Ilyn Payne. The Mountain-”  
“Would you shut up?” Sandor asked gruffly. Lenore was laying with her head on his chest just listening to them.  
“I can’t sleep until I say the names,” Arya explained, and Sandor turned his face away from her, getting ready to try to sleep again.   
“The names of every fucking person in Westeros?” he asked.  
“Only the ones I’m going to kill,” Arya said. Sandor chucked bitterly.  
“Hate’s as good a thing as any to keep a person going. Better than most. If we come across my brother, maybe we can all cross a name off our list,” he said.   
“If he were here right now, what would you do?” Arya asked softly. Sandor contemplated it for a while.  
“I’d tell him to shut the fuck up so I can get some sleep.” He sighed. “Go on, get it over with. Your list of doomed men.”   
“I’m almost done. Only one name left,” she said.  
“Go on!” Sandor urged. Arya laid back down and got comfortable.  
“The Hound,” she said. Sandor turned his head to look at the girl, and Lenore felt a pit in her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thouroughly enjoyed writing the Sandor/Arya/Lenore adventures! As always, feedback and reviews are always appreciated.


	22. Waterdance

Sandor woke up alone the next morning. No soft, warm, silver-haired beauty sleeping on his chest, and no small, angry little girl on the other side of the fire. He panicked. They had both been angry with him yesterday for stealing from that farmer. What if they had left together? He shot up and looked around, getting up to find them. When he saw all the horses still together, he calmed down. They hadn’t taken off. Sandor sighed and looked around, then started walking down the hill to the water. There he saw Lenore bathing in the river and washing her clothes, and Arya on land nearby, prancing around with her sword. He began walking down to them. Arya was spinning, twirling, standing on one foot, spinning again, until she almost hit Sandor’s big frame.  
“The hell you doing?” he asked.  
“Practising,” Arya said roughly, spinning around again.   
“What, ways to die?”  
“No one’s gonna kill me.”  
“They will if you dance around like that. That’s no way to fight,” he said, almost bewildered by the girl’s manners.  
“It’s not fighting, it’s waterdancing,” Arya said. Sandor let out a snort-like laugh.  
“Dancing? Maybe you ought to put on a dress!” he retorted, as Arya spun down on one knee with her sword pointed at him. When she got up, he couldn’t help himself. “Who taught you that shite?” he asked as Arya continued the dance.  
“The greatest swordsman who ever lived.” Arya did a cartwheel on one hand, “Syrio Forel, the first sword to the Sealord of Braavos.”  
“Braavos, pfft. Greasy haired little bastards of it, they all are.” Arya whipped around and pointed her sword at him again.  
“What do you know about anything!?” she shouted.  
“I bet his hair’s greasier than Joffrey’s cunt!” Sandor mocked, and Arya lowered her sword and got close to him.  
“It was not!”  
“Was? He dead?”   
“Yes.”   
“How?”   
“He was killed.”   
“Who by?”  
“Meryn Trant!” Sandor made a confused face. “That’s why Ser Meryn’s on my-”   
“Meryn Trant? The greatest swordsman who ever lived, killed by Meryn fucking Trant?”  
“He was outnumbered!”   
“Any boy whore with a sword could beat three Meryn Trants!”   
“Syrio didn’t have a sword! Or armour, just a stick!”  
“The greatest swordsman who ever lived didn’t have a sword!?” Sandor actually laughed. Lenore got out of the river and wrapped herself in the brown cloak while she listened to Sandor and Arya fight.  
“Alright, you have a sword,” Sandor continued when Arya didn’t respond. “Let’s see what he taught you.” Arya backed off and started twirling her sword in her hand. Lenore crossed her arms and watched with mild amusement. “Go on, do it for your Braavosi friend. Dead like all the rest of your friends,” Sandor muttered. Arya spun around, lounged forward and stabbed Sandor in the stomach with a grunt, only, her small sword didn’t even manage to pierce his armour. Sandor grimaced, then backhanded her hard, making her fall onto her back. She had never been scared of the Hound, but she looked slightly terrified when he approached, bent over and picked up her sword, pointing it at her.  
“Your friend’s dead, and Meryn Trant’s not. Cause Trant had armour. And a big fucking sword,” Sandor said, flipping the small sword around in his hand and giving it back to Arya. She took it, and he walked off. Lenore chuckled, grabbed her clean wet clothes and ran after him.  
“Are you proud of yourself, having a screaming match with a little girl?” she asked, trying and failing to suppress a grin. Sandor looked at her.  
“Shut up.” His comment only made Lenore laugh. “You know her sword remind me of yours,” he said.  
“Mine’s bigger!”   
“Not much.”   
“And it has a dragon!”   
“It does.”   
“I love it.”   
“I’m glad you haven’t named it.”   
“Keep having shouting matches with Arya and I just might,” she said with a giggle, kissed his cheek and ran ahead of him up to the camp. He looked behind himself so that Arya wasn’t following, and then he quickened his pace as well, catching up with his young wife.  
He grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and picking her up, making her squeal. He carried her a bit into the forest and pinned her against a tree, attacking her neck with his lips. His hands travelled from her stomach to her waist, squeezing it hard.  
“Arya might come back,” she whispered, but did nothing to try to stop him.  
“Let her watch if she wants,” he growled, his hand going under the cloak, up her thighs and finding her cunt. She moaned and smiled as he pressed his crotch against her bum.  
“She’ll hear us,” she said.  
“Not if you shut up.”   
“You know I can’t, not when you- ohhh…” she hummed as he slid a finger inside her. His other hand came up to her mouth, covering it so she would be quiet. As soon as he could, he pushed in another finger and started pumping them in and out of her wet cunt. It didn’t take long until her legs were shaking and quiet whimpers came from her covered mouth. She pressed herself back against in a way that drove him wild. She was his, all his, and she knew it.  
He leaned forward and kissed her neck again, smelling her, giving her sloppy kisses until he bit down hard. Despite his hand, she let out quite a loud moan. She grinded her bum against his hard crotch and he sped up his pace, finger fucking her faster and harder until she bowed her head forward, her whole body shaking as she did her best to stay quiet when she came for him, coating his big fingers with her wetness. He took his hand off her mouth and she exhaled, panting as she calmed down. Then she turned around with a smirk on her face. She looked back to the camp to see so that Arya wasn’t nearby, then she slid down on her knees. Sandor grinned.  
Lenore untied his breeches and pulled them down, revealing big, hard cock. She hadn’t seen it in so long it looked even better than she remembered. While looking him in the eye she took his cock in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks out. She put her hands on his hips and started bobbing her head up and down. Sandor groaned quietly and wrapped his hands in her silver hair, grabbing it and guiding her head. He liked it rough, and she had learned to please him as he liked. She took him deep, choking on his cock before pulling back with tears in her eyes. She caught her breath for a few seconds before she licked him from balls to tip a few times, then took all of him in and sucked him off hard.  
Soon he was fucking her mouth, his own mouth hanging open as he got close. With a few more rough thrusts he growled and spilled his seed inside her eager mouth. She giggled and swallowed all of it, looking up at him again. She tied his breeches and he held his hand out, helping her up.  
“When we get rid of that girl, I’m taking you to an inn and I’m breaking the bed,” he said, giving her a rough kiss. They started walking back to the camp.  
“When Arya is safe, we’re going straight to a damn harbour to cross the sea,” Lenore said desicively.  
“Fine, then we’re getting a cabin on the boat and I’m breaking  _ that  _ bed,” he growled. Lenore giggled.  
“Dead set on breaking the bed, hmm?”   
“That’s how hard I need to fuck you,” he said.  
“Eww,” they suddenly heard. Arya had heard the later exchange of their conversation and lenore blushed.  
“Sorry,” she said with an embarrassed chuckled. Arya made a face at her.  
“I killed a pigeon. Want breakfast or did you already have your fill?” she asked sassily.  
“Hey!” Lenore exclaimed, but couldn’t help laughing.  
“Pigeon’s good,” Sandor said, then looked uncomfortable. “Sorry for hitting you.”  
“No you’re not.”   
“No, you’re right, I’m not,” he agreed, and Lenore smacked his arm.  
Later in the day, Lenore’s clothes had dried. She put the tights on, the green tunic and the leather corset, but she skipped the white tunic she had made of her dress. After pulling on her boots she grabbed her sword and walked over to Arya.  
“Teach me that waterdance thing, will you?” she asked. Arya looked surprised. She finished the apple she was eating, tossed it away and shrugged.  
“Sure,” she said. She and Lenore walked back down to the river and both got out their swords. Before starting, they compared them. Lenore’s sword was slightly longer and slightly wider than Arya’s, which was very skinny. “I like the dragon,” she said.  
“Sandor had it made for me just before we left,” Lenore explained. “He threatened to melt the smith’s face unless he put a dragon on it.” Arya laughed.  
“I know you love him. But he’s still on my list,” she then said, growing serious again.  
“I don’t love him,” Lenore insisted. “And fine, just hold off on bashing his head in with a stone or stabbing him until we reach the Eyrie. Then you can see if you still want to murder him.”   
“Fine,” she agreed. “Come on then. First you gotta stand side-face,” she said. Lenore thought her wording was funny but ignored it. They practised the waterdance for an hour before Sandor walked down to them and watched them with interest. Something in his black heart felt lighter when he saw his wife and her new friend laugh and fight and stand in silly poses together. He even caught himself smiling several times. He would kill anyone in the world to ensure Lenore’s safety, he thought. Then he frowned. And Arya’s safety too, he realised. If he was a dog, he was their guard dog, and they were his pack. He had to keep them safe.


	23. You're not on your own

The following days went by the same.More riding, more campfires, more waterdance practise by the girls. Sometimes they ate rabbit, sometimes pigeon, once or twice they found a market and got some bread or carrots. Now they saw a stone cottage in front of them, and they stopped.  
“Could be food,” Sandor said.  
“Could be soldiers,” Arya suggested back. They approached the cottage and got off their horses, swords out, walking until they saw a man lying on the ground, leaning against a stone fireplace. He was bleeding heavily from his stomach and groaning. No one else was around, so they all tucked their weapons back in their sheaths.  
“You shouldn’t be sitting out here like this,” Arya said to the man. He looked up at her.  
“Where else to sit?” he asked. “Tried to walk back to me hut. Hurt too much. Then I remembered they burnt me hut down.”   
“Who were ‘they’?” Sandor asked.  
“I stopped asking a while ago,” the man answered. Lenore thought back to the farmer who had said that since the Freys ruled the Riverlands, raiders were a common thing. Sandor knelt in front of the man, inspecting his wound.  
“That’s not going to get better,” he said.  
“Doesn’t seem so,” the man mumbled back.  
“Bad way to go. Haven’t you had enough?” Sandor asked, almost softly.  
“Of what?” The man didn’t want to die. Sandor looked at him meaningly. “I know,” the man said, “time to go. Take matters into me own hands. The thought has occured to me.” Arya now knelt next to him.  
“So why go on?” she asked.  
“Habit.”  
“Nothing could be worse than this,” she said.  
“Maybe nothing  _ is  _ worse than this.”  
“Nothing isn’t better or worse than anything. Nothing is just nothing.” Lenore looked at Arya with a small smile. And the man looked at her as well.  
“Who are you?” he asked.  
“My name’s Arya. Arya Stark.” She told him the truth. He wouldn’t live to tell it to anyone else. He looked at Sandor and Lenore.  
“You her parents?” he asked weakly. Sandor shook his head.  
“Her captors,” he said. “Bringing her to her aunt for ransom.”   
“A fair exchange, that is,” the man said while nodding. “Always held to the notion of fair exchange, no mid-dealings. You give me, I give you. Fair. A balance. No balance anymore.” He was starting to ramble. He groaned again. “Could I have a drink? Dying is thirsty work.” Sandor took the water-filled wineskin off his belt and helped the man drink. “Wish it were wine,” the man mused.  
“So do I,” Sandor said, and a second later he put his knife through the man’s heart. Lenore flinched and looked away, but she still heard the man grunt and groan. He and Sandor looked at each other, and Sandor nodded at him. It was a mercy. He pulled the knife out and wiped it off, and the man died. “That’s where the heart it,” Sandor informed Arya, and got up, putting his knife back in the sheath. “That’s how you kill a man,” he said, and just as he said it, someone attacked him from behind with a scream. Lenore jumped in shock, Arya’s eyes shot up, Sandor shouted, reached over and grabbed the man around his neck, flipped him over, and broke his neck.  
The attacker, who had bitten Sandor’s neck, now laid dead on the ground. Sandor clutched his bleeding neck and groaned. Then they saw a second man, standing a bit away from them with his sword in his hand. He was fat and short with long hair.  
“The fuck you doing!?” Sandor asked angrily.  
“There’s a price on your head,” the man said.  
“Guess that’s what the king does when you tell him to fuck off,” Sandor grunted.  
“The king’s dead,” the man said. Lenore blinked in surprise. She, Arya and Sandor all looked at each other. “Drank poison wine at his own wedding. The bounty on you is for killing Lannister soldiers and kidnapping a Targaryen. A hundred silver stags.”  
“And you thought you were going to collect it? Didn’t think very hard, did you?” Sandor asked, unimpressed.  
“You were Yoren’s prisoners when he was taking me to the wall,” Arya suddenly said. She knew this man. She knew a lot of strange men, Lenore thought. “He told me he’d fuck me bloody with a stick,” Arya told Lenore and Sandor as she approached the man.  
“This day’s really not working out the way you planned,” Sandor told me man. “He on your little list?” he then asked Arya.  
“He can’t be. I don’t know his name.”  
“What’s your name?” Sandor asked the man.  
“Rorge,” he said.  
“Thank you,” Arya mumbled, and not two seconds later she had Needle out, sticking Rorge right through his heart, killing him, then wiping her sword clean just like Sandor had done.  
“You’re learning,” he said, and again Lenore thought he seemed proud. He walked off and Arya followed. Lenore looked after them.  
“I can’t believe they’re murder buddies now,” she mumbled into thin air, snapping back to reality and following them back to the horses. Sandor grunted about his neck wound for hours while riding, and both Lenore and Arya eventually grew so sick of his noises that they teamed up and decided together that they would stop here and make camp.  
“I can’t stand your whining every time your horse moves,” Arya complained when Sandor said he wanted to keep riding.  
“Me neither, just come on down and we can try to sew it up,” Lenore agreed. Sandor muttered sourly but got off Stranger’s back, stroking his neck before sitting down on a rock. Lenore and Arya went to find sticks for the fire. They made the fire together as well and then they sat down. Lenore handed her thread and needle to Sandor. He had mocked her for bringing it, but now he was grateful. He spent a good long time trying to sew up his own wound while Arya cleaned her sword. This was the first time he wasn’t wearing any armour. Just his breeches and tunic. Lenore thought he looked painfully handsome.  
“Rat cunt… fucking whore,” Sandor grunted after awhile of failing with the thread.  
“You’re doing it wrong,” Arya said firmly. “You need to burn away that horrible bit there. Otherwise it’s gonna get infected and fester.” She knew about healing wounds. Lenore didn’t. She had only ever sewn dresses and capes. Sandor looked at his neck and then back at Arya, who put her sword down. “I know you don‘t like fire, but if you don’t do it right-”   
“No fire,” Sandor cut her off.  
“It’ll only take a second,” Arya said and picked up one of the burning sticks, walking towards the Hound. “It won’t hurt that much.”   
“NO FIRE!” he shouted, jumping up off the rock and taking a few steps back. Lenore’s eyes widened at his reaction. Arya looked surprised as well, and Sandor looked ashamed. Arya put the stick back in the fire and sat back down, taking up her sword again.  
“Shut up about it,” Sandor said. “Shut up about everything! Thanks to you I’m a walking bag of silver. Anywhere the Lannister’s ode sway. Which is everywhere from where we are now to where we’re going! I’m as stupid as that hog you stuck back in the village,” he went on, calming down and sitting down. “Getting myself cut, and stabbed, and bitten… No reward’s worth this much trouble,” he concluded and started working with the thread again. “Wish I’d never laid eyes on you.” Arya looked at him strangely, and Lenore knew he was lying. To Arya and to himself. He looked at Arya and got quiet, brushing a fly off his shoulder.  
“You say your brother gave you that sword,” he continued, and Arya put Needle down. “My brother gave me this,” he said and pointed at his big burn scar. “Just like you said, a while back. Pressed me to the fire like I was a nice juicy mutton chop,” he admitted. He never liked discussing his childhood but here he was, laying it bare to Arya.  
“Why?” she asked with her arms crossed, listening carefully.  
“Thought I stole one of his toys, I didn’t steal it, I was just playing with it,” he said, and Lenore felt tears in her eyes. He had never told her the full story either, she only knew what Littlefinger had told her. Sandor looked so vulnerable as he continued. “The pain was bad. Smell was worse. But the worst thing was that it was my brother who did it… and my father, who protected him, told everyone my bedding caught fire.” He was quiet for a long while before he looked at Arya. “You think you’re on your own…” he said, giving her a meaningful look.  
“Let me wash it out. And help you sew it up at least,” the girl said. Sandor looked away, but nodded. Lenore handed Arya her wineskin, filled with the yarrow concoction she had made again a few days ago. She took it and walked over to Sandor, washing his neck wound clean and stitching it up with great care. In that moment, Lenore knew that Arya didn’t hate the Hound. Not really.


	24. The Bloody Gate

“He should have let me burn it,” Arya mumbled to Lenore. Sandor was asleep and even in his dreams he was scratching at the wound. Then Lenore had an idea.  
“So let’s do it,” she said. “I’ll hold his hands down and you burn the cut. He will strike the one who’s holding him, and I don’t want him to strike you.” Arya nodded and went to get the burning stick again. Lenore wrapped her hands around Sandor’s wrists and held them down. Arya approached, and quickly lowered the stick, holding it to his wound and burning it. Just like Lenore has assumed, he woke up with a scream, ripped free from her hands holding him, and in a second he was on top of her with his fist raised. He thought he was being attacked, but when he saw his wife look up at him with wide eyes he lowered his fist. He turned his eyes to Arya who still had the burning stick in her hands.  
“Right cunts, the both of you are,” he growled, got up and walked away from them angrily.  
“You’re welcome!” they both called after him, then looked at each other and chuckled. He would hate them for this for a few days, but he would recover faster. He didn’t return until both girls were asleep, cuddled up together. It was a sweet sight, he couldn’t deny it. But he was angry with them. He held a grudge for days, less talkative than usual and rougher than usual when they stopped and practiced sword fighting. He would practice with them both, and he was never hesitant to hit them or strike them down with his sword. But he was making them both better.  
“We’re close to the Eyrie now,” he said one day when they had all been sparring together. “We should be there any day.” Arya looked pleased. After eating they kept riding, and only a few days later, they were there. The Eyrie was a big castle on a huge mountain. They would have to walk all the way up there. They tied the horses to a tree at the bottom, then started walking. And walking. And walking. On the way there they talked about Joffrey’s death.  
“I thought it would make me happy,” Arya said. “But it doesn’t, not really.”  
“Nothing makes you happy,” Sandor retorted, making Lenore chuckle.  
“Lots of things make me happy,” Arya defended.  
“Like what?”  
“Killing Polliver. Killing Rorge.”   
“So you’re sad cause you didn’t get to kill Joffrey yourself, is that it?”  
“At least I could’ve been there to watch. I wanted to see the look in his eyes when he knew it was over.”  
“Aye,” Sandor agreed. “Nothing in the world beats that look.” Lenore looked at them strangely.  
“You’re such murderous monsters, both of you,” she scolded with a smile.  
“Aye, and you should be grateful for it,” Sandor said.  
“You protected him for most of his life, you think you could’ve saved him?” Arya asked Sandor as he took a drink.  
“I wasn’t the damn wine taster. Little shit deserved to die, but… poison? Poison is a woman’s weapon. Men kill with steel.”  
“That’s your stupid pride talking,” Arya sassed. “It’s why you’ll never be a great killer. I’d kill Joffrey with a chicken bone if I had to.” Sandor laughed.  
“I’d pay good money to see that,” he said and scratched at his healing bite mark.  
“You should be glad we burned it,” Arya told him.  
“It’s a flea bite,” Sandor deflected, and Lenore chuckled and shook her head.  
“Always with the pride,” she joked.  
“You really think my aunt will pay for me?” Arya asked.  
“Aye, she’ll pay,” Sandor said.  
“I’ve never even met her.”  
“Doesn’t matter. You’re her blood. Family, honour… all that horse shit. It’s all you lords and ladies ever talk about.  
“I’m not a lady,” Arya muttered quietly.  
“Who would pass the bloody gate?” a guard said. They stopped, and Lenore looked up. Several arrows were pointed at them and the guard stood atop the mountain. In front of them was a large gate.  
“The bloody Hound, Sandor Clegane. And my wife, Lenore Clegane. And our…” he looked at Arya. “Travelling companion. Arya Stark, niece of your lady Lysa Arryn.” The guard bowed his head.  
“Then I offer my condolences. Lady Arryn died… Three days ago,” he said. Sandor stared at the man. His expression was blank, like he couldn’t understand what the guard said. Arya started laughing hysterically. The guard looked to his archers strangely. Lenore stared at Arya, perplexed. Arya looked up at the Hound’s facial expression and started laughing even harder. All this hard work, all these months of walking and riding, to get her somewhere safe, and just as they got there, safety had died. Sandor huffed and turned around, walking ahead of them away. Arya finally calmed down and put her hand on Lenore’s arm.  
“What’s he going to do with me now?” she asked. Lenore shrugged.  
“I don’t know, love. But we’re not abandoning you,” she said, messing Arya’s hair up. She mocked an offended look before she chuckled and they started walking after Sandor.  
“This makes me happy,” Arya said with a grin. “He’s worked so hard to get rid of me but he just can’t.”  
“You like making him suffer, is that it?” Lenore asked, smiling back at the girl who just nodded. Lenore chuckled and shook her head. They caught up with Sandor and walked in silence back to the horses. Before they got on them, though, Lenore stopped.  
“Where do we go now?” she asked. Sandor shook his head.  
“I don’t fucking know,” he muttered, so Lenore looked at Arya.  
“Where do you want to go?” Arya thought for a while. Her eyes drifted away and she looked almost dreamy for a second, before she looked back to Lenore.  
“I want to go to to the Wall,” she said decisively. Sandor snorted.  
“Good. We can’t ride there, we’ll have to sail. I still have enough money to book passage on a ship. Sandor and I are crossing the sea as well, so we might as well go together,” Lenore said. By now she was desperate to go across the Narrow Sea and find Daenerys. She looked Sandor and waited for his response.  
“Fine, good,” he muttered and climbed onto his horse. Lenore and Arya did the same and they were off again.  
“The closest harbour is in Saltpans. Shouldn’t be much more than a week’s ride,” Sandor said after a while. Lenore and Arya looked at each other and nodded.


	25. There's no safety, you dumb bitch

They stopped for food in the mountains, near the Trident. The Trident was the biggest river in Westeros. Lenore was refilling all their waterskins, Sandor was relieving himself, and Arya was once again practising her waterdance. She stopped when she heard noise and saw a big woman in armour.  
“People coming,” she said. Lenore heard her, closed the skins and ran up to her, sword in hand. She saw the woman too. Neither of the girls were sure they could take this woman on. “You can shit later, there’s people coming,” Arya whisper-shouted to the Hound. He didn’t come. The woman came closer, and both Lenore and Arya had their swords pointed at her.  
“Morning,” the woman said cheerily. Lenore furrowed her eyebrows.   
“Morning…” Arya said suspiciously.  
“I like your sword. Are we getting close to the Bloody Gate?” the woman asked.  
“About ten more miles,” Arya said, and the armoured woman’s squire walked up. Lenore’s heart stopped. She knew him. He was Tyrion’s squire once, he had served her wine on more than one occasion.  
“You hear that, Podrick?” the armoured woman asked. “Only ten more miles to the Bloody Gate.” Arya abandoned her defensive position, but Lenore did not.  
“You a knight?” Arya asked the woman.  
“No,” she said. Lenore looked at Podrick Payne and he looked at her. She wasn’t sure he recognised her with her silver hair.  
“But you know how to use that sword,” Arya continued.  
“I do,” the woman responded. Arya walked closer to her.  
“Does it have a name?”   
“Oathkeeper,” the woman said with pride in her voice.  
“Mine’s Needle,” Arya said and tucked it back into her belt. Lenore frowned at how easily Arya seemed to trust the woman.  
“Good name,” she said with a smile.  
“Who taught you how to fight?” Arya asked.  
“My father.”   
“Mine never wanted to. Said fighting was for boys.”   
“Mine said the same. But I kept fighting the boys anyway. Kept losing. Finally my father said ‘if you’re going to do it, you might as well do it right’.” The woman approached, and Arya smiled. Finally, Sandor returned. He was buckling his belt and came to stand behind Arya.  
“Seven blessings,” the woman said, and if Podrick hadn’t recognised Lenore, he definitely recognised the Hound. “I’m Brienne of Tarth, this is Podrick Payne,” she introduced them. Lenore clutched her sword hard as Podrick set his bag down.  
“You want something?” Sandor asked harshly. Podrick took a step forward.  
“That’s Sandor Clegane, the Hound. And Lenore Targaryen.” There was a long pause and Arya walked behind Sandor to stand next to Lenore.  
“You’re Arya Stark,” Brienne said when she realised. Upon her realisation, Sandor grabbed his sword.  
“I asked you if you wanted something,” he pressed. Brienne only talked to Arya.  
“I swore to your mother I’d bring you home to her.”   
“My mother’s dead.”  
“I know,” Brienne said and walked closer. “I wish I could’ve been there to protect her.”  
“You’re not a Northerner.”   
“No. But I swore a sacred vow to protect her.”   
“Why didn’t you?” Arya asked, getting skeptical again.  
“She commanded me to bring Jaime Lannister back to King’s Landing.”   
“You’re paid by the Lannisters,” Sandor interrupted. “You’re here for the bounty on me.”  
“I’m not paid by the Lannisters,” Brienne said with a frown.  
“No?” Sandor asked and walked up to her. “Fancy sword you got there. Where’d you get it? I’ve been looking at Lannister gold all my life. Go on, Brienne of fucking Tarth, tell me that’s not Lannister gold.”  
“Jaime Lannister gave me this sword,” Brienne said defensively. Sandor looked back at Arya who was frowning.  
“The Bloody Gate’s ten miles,” she said harshly. She didn’t trust anyone associated with the Lannisters.  
“I swore to your mother by the Old Gods and-”   
“I don’t care what you swore!”   
“Arya!”   
“You heard the girl!” Sandor interrupted. “She’s not coming with you.”   
“She is,” Brienne argued, facing off with the Hound. Sandor drew his sword and Brienne drew hers.  
“You’re not a good listener,” Sandor said, then looked at her sword. “Valyrian steel. I always wanted some Valyrian steel.”  
“Come with me, Arya, I’ll take you to safety,” Brienne said, ignoring the Hound.  
“Safety!?” he shouted. “Where the fuck’s that!? Her aunt in the Eyrie is dead. Her mother’s dead, her father’s dead, her brother is dead! Winterfell is a pile of rubble. There’s no safety, you dumb bitch. If you don’t know that by now, you’re the wrong one to watch over her.”  
“And that’s what you’re doing? Watching over her?”  
“Aye, that’s what I’m doing,” Sandor said without a fleck of hesitation. Brienne drew her sword all the way out, getting in guard, and Sandor did the same. They were roughly the same size, Sandor and Brienne. Lenore had never seen such a big woman. Sandor struck first, and Brienne guarded herself. Podrick watched from a bit away, and Lenore began approaching him. When he noticed her, he pulled out his own sword but ran away.  
Lenore ran after him, chasing him up the hill. Sandor and Brienne were heading up the hill as well, the clashing of their swords following Lenore and Podrick, but then Sandor punched Brienne and she rolled down again, and they headed the other way. Lenore didn’t know what was going on with her husband but she had faith that he would beat Brienne, so she focused on Podrick. All the way up the hill she jumped on him, tackling him to the ground from behind.  
“Please, I don’t want to hurt you!” Podrick whined and dropped his sword. Lenore straddled him and pointed her sword at his throat. “I remember you, you’re Lord Tyrion’s friend! Don’t kill me,” he pleaded. Lenore snarled and stuck her sword back in its sheath, punching Podrick in the face.  
“Why are you here!?” she demanded.  
“Brienne and I are searching for the Stark girls!”  
“ _ Girls _ ? Sansa’s not in King’s Landing anymore?” Lenore pressed, grabbing a fistful of Podrick’s hair.  
“N-n-no, m’lady, she disappeared after Joffrey died.”   
“How did you know I’m a Targaryen!?”  
“Cersei told everyone after you escaped!”  
“Where’s Tyrion if you’re not serving him!?”  
“He-he’s locked in a dungeon accused of killing Joffrey. But he didn’t-”   
“Of course he didn’t!” Lenore screamed, punching the squire again, knocking him out. Then she ran back down the hill, following the grunts, screams and steel clashes until she saw Sandor and Brienne, still at it. Lenore’s eyes widened when she saw Sandor on his knees without his sword in his hand. Brienne was beating  __ him.   
“I have no wish to kill you, Ser,” she said. Sandor looked furious, and he grabbed the blade of Brienne’s sword with both hands, ignoring as they were cut open.  
“I’m not a knight,” he snarled and used the sword to heave himself back on his feet. He punched Brienne in the face, knocking her to her knees, but as he was about to punch her again she hit him in the nuts, bringing him to the ground. They were equally good, Lenore realised. Sandor managed to get up, and he kicked Brienne in the crotch, making her cry out, but as he went to straddle her, pulling his dagger out, she flipped them over and- she bit his ear! She bit it hard and appeared to rip it off. Lenore couldn’t just watch.  
As Brienne punched Sandor over and over, Lenore ran up to them, jumping onto Brienne’s back and wrapping her legs around her waist, clawing at Brienne’s eyes with her nails. But she was a second too late, Brienne had managed to lead Sandor to the edge of the cliff, and he fell off of it. Lenore elbowed Brienne in the head, got off of her and kicked her in the back.  
“GET AWAY FROM MY HUSBAND!” she yelled as she punched the woman over and over. She heard herself repeat the phrase again and again as she kept hitting and kicking Brienne until she managed to get up. “DO NOT TOUCH MY HUSBAND! GET AWAY FROM US!” Lenore shouted and Brienne backed of, holding her bleeding neck as she ran away and ran to find her squire, or Arya, Lenore wasn’t sure which.  
She jumped off the cliff and landed on her feet right next to Sandor. He was bleeding heavily and panting. He was bleeding from his ear, from his mouth, his hands, his leg and his neck. He coughed when Lenore brushed his hair out of his face. Something resembling a smile appeared on his features.  
“You love me, don’t you?” he asked raspily. Lenore felt tears in her eyes, and she heard Arya’s light footsteps behind them. “I heard you up there. ‘Don’t touch my husband’…” Sandor coughed and laughed.  
“Yes…” Lenore cried, tears falling from her eyes. “Yes, you stupid man, I love you,” she said and kissed him softly. She felt his hand come up and rest on her cheek as she pulled away.  
“And I you,” he murmured back, making Lenore sob out loud. She wiped her tears and looked over to Arya. She had hidden during the fight, but came back to them after.  
“We have to wash his wounds,” Lenore whispered, and Arya nodded.  
“I don’t think I can walk,” Sandor groaned.  
“Shhh…” Lenore soothed. Arya gathered up all their wineskins and walked down to the river, filling them up before returning. She and Lenore both helped clean out Sandor’s cuts and wounds and bite marks, and Arya sewed up the missing bit of ear Brienne had bitten off of him.  
“Crazy bitch…” Sandor muttered when he felt Arya’s hands on his ear. “Biting people’s ears off… Beaten by a woman, you like that, don’t you?” he asked Arya while she stitched. She didn’t respond. “You should’ve gone with her. She would’ve protected you.”  
“You and Lenore protect me just fine,” Arya said and finished her stitching, looking to Lenore. “We’ll have to stay here until he can walk again.” Lenore nodded in agreement.  
“I’ll make camp,” she said and got on with it, making a fire, boiling water and making more yarrow tea. She had taken up the habit of keeping dried yarrow in her bag nowadays. When it cooled down she used it to once again wash Sandor’s wounds. They were bad, but none were fatal. It would probably take him a few days before he was good to ride again.


	26. Saltpans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh things are heading somewhere! This is where I really started making the big changes in Sandor's storyline!

Sandor groaned loudly when he walked. He walked with a limp and was in constant pain, but he could ride. Slowly. Lenore was actually surprised that Arya stuck around. She could have run away during the fight, she could have gone with Brienne, she could have abandoned them when Sandor was wounded. But she didn’t. She helped wash and dress his wounds when it needed, she took over the responsibility of hunting for food. She cared about the Hound, as much as she didn’t want to admit it.  
They rode further and further away from the rocky mountains, and eventually reached plain ground again. Sandor was no longer riding first, instead Lenore was, and Sandor was in between the girls, just giving directions when needed. But he got better and better everyday, and they could ride a little longer with each passing day. And then one day they finally reached a populated town. Saltpans. There were shops and inns here, and ships sailed from this town. But most of the shops, inns and alehouses had been plundered, it looked like. At the harbour, people were shovelling salt into boxes. They got off their horses, Sandor steadying himself slightly on Lenore. Arya walked ahead of them down the stairs, finding a man reading a map. Sandor limped after Lenore down the steps and they watched Arya approach the man.  
“I want to see the captain,” she said decisively.   
“You’re seeing him,” the man replied.  
“I want to go North. To the Wall,” Arya told him, and he looked at her.  
“No you don’t,” he said and started walking.  
“I can pay,” Arya insisted.  
“There’s nothing in the north but ice, war and violence.”   
“I wouldn’t need a cabin! Please! I could work, scrubbing the floors-”   
“I’m not going North, child,” the captain interrupted her. “I’m going home.”  
“Where’s home?”   
“The Free city of Braavos,” the captain said, and Arya’s eyes lit up.  
“Wait! I have something else!” She started rummaging through her little pouch.  
“More silver won’t make a difference.” She got out her Braavosi coin.  
“It’s not silver, it’s iron,” she said and held it up to the captain. He looked surprised as he took it.  
“This… how did you-”   
“Valar morghulis,” Arya said. Lenore recognised Valyrian but didn’t know what it meant.  
“Valar dohaeris,” the captain responded and saluted her. “Of course, you shall have a cabin!” Arya looked satisfied as she was handed back her coin. “My… friends, are coming with me,” she said firmly to the captain.  
“Of course,” the captain agreed and nodded politely to Sandor and Lenore. “We leave in thirty minutes.” Arya nodded and walked back to the people she had just called her friends.  
“Good job?” Lenore said questioningly.  
“You can go to Braavos and then from there to Slaver’s Bay, right?” Arya asked.  
“It’s not optimal, it would be better if we could sail to Pentos, Myr or Volantis… but I don’t think any ships here are going there, so… yes,” Lenore concluded. Arya smiled.  
“Good.” Then she walked off and disappeared for a while. Lenore asked the captain if they could bring their horses on the boat. They would need them to get across Essos. The captain was hesitant, but Lenore gave him some of her silver and he reluctantly agreed to let two horses on the boat. Lenore was about to argue when Arya came back with a bag of silver in her hand.  
“I won’t need a horse in Braavos,” she explained when Lenore looked at her.  
“Two horses will work fine then,” Lenore said to the captain with a smile. The boat was big and loaded with salt, but it had plenty of cabins to eat and sleep in, and even a stable where they tied up Stranger and Windrunner. Arya got her own cabin and Sandor and Lenore shared another one. There was good food, and they even had ale, much to Sandor’s pleasure. Besides his limp he was no longer affected by any of the wounds. After drinking his fill of ale and eating himself full on salmon, chicken and potatoes, Sandor took a nice long nap, and Lenore went up on deck to Arya. She was looking out across the sea, and Lenore joined her.  
“The captain said it’s an eight day journey to Braavos. And from Braavos you’ll have to ride down to Pentos. From Pentos you can take a boat to past Volantis to Slaver’s Bay. I asked him and he said there were ships in Pentos going all the way there, no stops. It’s less than a month’s sail,” Arya said and looked at Lenore.  
“Thank you,” Lenore answered with a smile. “That’s very kind of you to ask for us.” Arya shrugged and looked out again. “What are you going to do in Braavos?” Lenore asked.  
“I met a Faceless Man named Jaqen H’ghar. I’m going to find him and he’s going to teach me how to be one of them,” Arya explained.  
“That’s the murder cult who worship the god of death, isn’t it?” Lenore continued, and Arya nodded. “Well, best of luck. You’re quite a capable killer already, I’m sure you’ll do great.”   
“Thank you,” Arya mumbled. The smell of the sea was so fresh and crisp compared to the forests they had spent many months riding through.  
By nightfall it had grown cold, and Lenore was back in the cabin with Sandor. He had found a book that he was now lying on the bed reading. Lenore smiled and started undressing, taking off her leather corset, setting it down on the small table. Sandor closed his book and looked at Lenore, biting his lip. She slowly unlaced her tunic and let it slide off of her body. Then she removed her boots, tights and smallclothes, rendering herself completely naked. Sandor gave her a wolfish grin. He had already taken off all his armour and was only in his tunic and breeches.  
“Come here, girl,” he said. Lenore slowly walked up to him, got on the bed and straddled him. Sandor licked his lips and grabbed her waist, pushing her down against his crotch. “I promised I’d break the bed, didn’t I?” he asked and flipped them over, laying Lenore on her back.  
“I don’t think the captain would like that,” she giggled while pulling Sandor’s tunic off. He discarded his breeches as well and started kissing down Lenore’s body, from her neck to her tummy to her thighs. She hummed lightly as his beard rubbed against her body. She had always enjoyed the feel of his rough beard on her skin.  
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard…” Sandor mumbled when he came back up. He placed his hand on Lenore’s cheek and kissed her hungrily, and as she spread her legs for him he slid his cock into her slowly, stretching her open. She moaned against his lips as she adjusted to his size. It had been so long. Sandor kissed her again as he began fucking her, pulling almost all the way out before slamming his cock back into her, making her cry out. Her hands came up to tangle themselves in his hair and she held on as he pounded into her aching cunt hard and deep.  
“Oh, Gods, Sandor… you feel so good,” she moaned, trying to pull him closer with her legs. Sandor groaned at the sensation of her cunt squeezing his cock. She clenched around him and held him tighter, her moan growing lighter and faster. With a growl he quickened his pace, fucking her hard into the featherbed. She tugged at his hair and closed her eyes, her mouth falling open in a loud moan as she gave in and came for him. He had almost forgotten how beautiful she looked when she came around his cock. It didn’t take him long before he buried his face in her neck and came as well, spilling himself inside her with a primal growl. Lenore’s grip in his hair softened.  
“I love you…” she whispered, stroking his hair. He lifted his head and looked at her.  
“Say that again,” he said with a smile.  
“I love you,” she repeated slowly.  
“I love you too,” Sandor responded, kissing her softly before pulling out and laying down next to her. He pulled her onto him and she laid with her head on his chest, the way she liked. She traced patterns in his chest hair with her fingers.  
“We made it. We’re finally on our way across the Narrow Sea,” Lenore said after a while. Sandor looked down at her.  
“Only just as long to go, then,” he replied, and they laughed.  
“Yes, we have another long journey coming.”


	27. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the shortest chapter in the whole fic, but here's to more adventure!  
Feedback always welcome <3

Eight days later they arrived in Braavos. They all stood on deck with the captain, watching as they were about to sail under the Titan’s leds and into the harbour.   
“In the old times, whenever Braavos stood in danger, the Titan would step with fire in his eyes, wade into the sea and smash the enemies,” the captain said, smiling at Arya.  
“It’s just a statue,” she said in return, looking skeptically at the captain. She flinched when a horn blew loudly. The captain laughed.  
“Don’t be afraid. He’s announcing our arrival,” he explained.  
“I’m not afraid,” Arya said decisively. The captain smiled and went over to Sandor and Lenore. He gave them directions on how to ride to Pentos, and presented Lenore with a map. With some charcoal he drew a circle around the harbour in Braavos, dotted out the road to Pentos, then lined out the way at sea to Slaver’s Bay.  
“There’s Yunkai, Astapor and Meereen,” Lenore mumbled.  
“Yes,” the captain replied. “That is where you’ll find who you seek.”  
“You know she’s there?”  
“I don’t know anything, only what I’ve heard. And I’ve heard she’s there.” Lenore nodded, folded the map and tucked it into her bag. Since Arya had told the captain she was searching for Jaqen H’ghar, he was going to take her on a smaller boat to the House of Black and White. The ship slowed down and stopped at the docks, and it was time to go. Sandor and Lenore went and got their horses, leading the up on deck. They all got off the ship and the captain started preparing his rowing boat. Arya and Lenore looked at each other.  
“I suppose this is goodbye then,” Lenore said, almost sadly.  
“It is.”   
“I hope we meet again.”   
“Maye once your sister takes King’s Landing, you and I can kill the Lannisters together,” Arya suggested with a grin. Lenore chuckled.  
“I’d like that.” She gave Arya a tight, long hug, which she returned happily. Arya pulled away and looked at Sandor for a while. They both looked awkward, but Arya gave him a waist hug, then nodded at him and ran away, following the captain in his boat. Sandor and Lenore both looked after her as she rowed away, and they waved. Arya waved back with a smile on her lips. Lenore leaned her head against Sandor’s shoulder and looked at him.  
“We should buy some food and new clothes before we go. It’s much warmer here than in the West,” she said.  
“I can feel that. Sounds like a good idea,” he agreed. “I’m going to miss that girl” he admitted as they walked. Lenore smiled.  
“Me too. But I’m sure we’ll see her again.” Lenore had worked on the boat for the last week scrubbing the floors, earning herself some extra money. She bought food and drink from a few shops, a brown skirt with a matching blouse and one of those boleros she had already seen many Braavosi women wear.

Sandor got a new, dark blue tunic and a whole pair of breeches, and they both got a cloak with a hood to shield themselves from the sun, or from enemies. After changing into their new clothes, they sat up on their horses and started their second journey, through Essos.


	28. Slaver's Bay

It had been many more months of riding, and almost a whole month on the same ship, but Sandor and Lenore were finally approaching Slaver’s Bay. During their travels, Lenore had learned that the Dragon Queen, as the people here called her, was ruling in Meereen. She had liberated the slaves in Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen, and now she was the queen there.  
The ship finally stopped in Astapor, and Sandor and Lenore got off it, leading their horses ashore. Astapor was a beautiful city by the shore, but it was in chaos when they arrived. People were fighting each other in the streets and no one seemed to know what to do.  
“This is what happens when you throw out a system without replacing it with a new one,” Sandor muttered while they rode past a pile of dead bodies. Lenore frowned and set off galloping. She was in a hurry to get to her sister by this stage. Sandor squeezed Stranger’s sides and he sped up, galloping along with Windrunner. They rode non stop until they were out of Astapor.

In the great pyramid of Meereen, Ser Barristan Selmy approached D  
aenerys Targaryen.  
“Your Grace,” he said and bowed. Daenerys looked at him apprehensively. “I heard a rumour this morning from the docks of Astapor,” Selmy told her.  
“Yes?”  
“A Yunkish captain swears he transported your sister to Astapor.” Daenerys stood up, stepping closer to the knight.  
“My sister? Laenerys is alive?” she asked, looking surprised but hopeful. “She certainly was when I left King’s Landing. But she was in disguise. Now, this may be just a rumour, your Grace, but the captain swore he escorted a ‘silver haired western woman and her big brutish husband’ ashore.”  
“Big brutish husband?” Daenerys repeated.  
“She’s married to Sandor Clegane, the Hound,” Barristan explained.  
“How do you know this?” Daenerys asked, looking hesitant. She knew of the Clegane brothers. The Hound and the Mountain were two of the most fearsome killers of Westeros. It pained Daenerys that her sister was married to one of them. She couldn’t have chosen it.  
“Forgive me, your Grace, I thought you knew. I don’t know why they got married, I never saw anything between them, but after the Battle of Blackwater I heard the rumour that Lenore Baelish - as I knew her - was really Laenerys Targaryen, and she and her husband had fled the battle. I haven’t heard anything else about them after that. Not until today.” Daenerys turned around and walked out onto her balcony, looking out over the city. Barristan followed and waited for her to speak.  
“I want five Unsullied in Astapor, five in Yunkai and five in Meereen searching for her. If they find her they will escort her to me unharmed,” she commanded. Barristan nodded and left to go find Grey Worm and further the queen’s command to him.

Sandor and Lenore slept outside a whorehouse between Astapor and Yunkai that night. They were huddled up in each other’s arms, not because it was cold, for it wasn’t, but just because they wanted to. The trip had been much more pleasant ever since they admitted their love for each other. There had been more laughing, more affection and more conversations. And a lot more fucking. They barely had any money left though, and that’s why they didn’t visit inns here even though there were plenty of them. They kept riding in the morning, galloping all the way to Yunkai. It was a city surrounded by a wall, so they couldn’t come in. Or so they thought, until they realised the gate wasn’t locked, it was open.  
With their cloaks pulled up to hide their faces they rode through the town. Unsullied soldiers were marching the streets. Commoners were walking around freely, none of them in chains. Lenore already felt proud of her sister’s achievements. The closer they got, the more anxiety Lenore felt in her stomach.  
“We’re almost there, don’t worry,” Sandor assured her when he saw her expression.  
“I know, that’s what’s scaring me. The closer I get the more I fear she will have left once we get there.”  
“At least you’re admitting it,” he said and shrugged. “She’ll still be there, she’s their queen.”  
“But her goal is Westeros, not Essos.”  
“You sure?”   
“W-well, no, but… I’ve always assumed so. The small council has always assumed so. The throne is her birthright.”   
“Maybe she prefers the heat,” Sandor said and shrugged again. Lenore swallowed, and urged her horse to move faster. It took them a day to get through Yunkai, and no one had seemed to notice them. They kept moving along the coast, just enjoying the sunset until they heard a noise coming from above. They looked up, and Lenore’s eyes widened.  
A large, black and red dragon was soaring above them. She stopped, and slid off her horse, staring up at the gorgeous creature flying above them. When the dragon came closer, Lenore felt tears fall from her eyes. The faith she had been lacking all her life suddenly washed over her. She believed. She didn’t know in what she believed, but she believed. Everything would be alright. With a screech, the black dragon landed in front of them. Sandor and the horses backed off, but Lenore remained still. The dragon sniffed, and with heavy steps came close to her. All she could do was look at it, mesmerised. She was still crying, tears of joy or tears of relief, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. The dragon blinked, and lowered his head until his face was just a foot away from Lenore’s.  
If he decided to breathe fire on her, she would be dead in seconds. But he didn’t. Instead he nudged her hand with his head. She swallowed and extended her hand, slowly meeting the side of the dragon’s cheek. He almost seemed to purr as she stroked him. For a few seconds he closed his eyes and enjoyed her touch, and then he flapped his wings, lifting off of his feet and flying away again. Lenore released a breath. She turned back to look at her husband who watched her almost with awe.  
“They’re real,” she breathed. “I always believed it, but… now I know.” She wiped her tears and sat back up on her horse, watching as the black dragon disappeared into the clouds.  
“I don’t ever want to be face to face with that thing again,” Sandor said. Lenore whipped her head around to look at him. She frowned. “It spits fire!” Sandor exclaimed.  
“It knew me,” Lenore asserted. “My sister’s dragon recognised me, he knew my face as hers and he wouldn’t hurt me.” Sandor just looked at her for a while before he nodded.  
“Looked like it. Come on,” he said, and got Stranger walking again. They rode side by side until they were at the gate of Meereen.


	29. Haedar (Sister)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh this calls for a family reunion...

Meereen was the greatest of the three cities. It was big, it was beautiful, and it was warm. Lenore had discarded her leather corset and the bolero, packing them in her bag already In Pentos. But they both kept their cloaks on for fear of being seen.  
“There. In the great pyramid. That’s where she’ll be. That’s what the boy said.” Lenore pointed up the hills to the biggest of the Meereen pyramids. The road to Meereen was lined with large crosses. There was blood on them as if people had been nailed to them, but they were empty now. Lenore and Sandor rode all the way up the hill, bound the horses to a post, and approached the pyramid.  
They were stopped by men in leather armour. Unsullied. They spoke with heavy accents.  
“State your names and business here,” one of them demanded. Lenore raised her hands, signalling that she was seeking no harm.  
“My name is Lenore Clegane. This is my husband Sandor Clegane. We’re here to see the queen.” The two Unsullied soldiers looked at each other.  
“Clegane,” one of them said to the other, before they started speaking Valyrian. They seemed to recognise the name. Then they nodded and escorted Lenore and Sandor into the pyramid. There was a line before them. Three others had business with the queen that day, and Lenore anxiously held Sandor’s hand tightly as she waited her turn. Finally the third person was finished, and he exited the pyramid.  
“Send the next one in,” Lenore heard a woman say. It was her, it was Daenerys. Lenore and Sandor were sent forward, into a majestic throne room. They both walked with their heads down and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, kneeling. Daenerys said nothing, but stood up and walked down the first few steps. Lenore raised her head and looked up. The woman she saw looked so much alike herself. She looked regal and majestic in a long white dress, with scaly white sleeves.  
“Rise,” Daenerys said softly but firmly. Lenore did as she was told. “Remove your hood.” Once again she obeyed, pulling her hood off her head, revealing her pale and dirty face, and her long silver hair tied into a braid hanging at her side. Daenerys looked shocked. “I know your face… sister,” she murmured. Lenore kept from crying as she straightened her back and looked into Daenerys’ eyes as she came all the way down the stairs to them.  
“We’ve travelled a long way to find you… my queen,” Lenore said, and Daenerys shook her head.  
“ _ You  _ do not need to call me that.” She extended her arms, and the two sisters shared a long lost embrace. Daenerys didn’t seem to care that Lenore was dirty, she hugged her tightly before she let go. She then turned her eyes to Sandor who was still kneeling.  
“You must be Sandor Clegane,” she assessed. “Rise, Ser.” Sandor stood up and unveiled his hood. He towered over Daenerys just as he did over her sister.  
“I am, your Grace, but I’m no Ser.”  
“You served the usurper Robert Baratheon, and the bastard Joffrey Lannister after him,” Daenerys said with a raised eyebrow and a harsher tone.  
“I did, but I don’t. If you mean to punish me for that, fine, but know that I’ve loved and served no one but your sister for two years now. If you wish to know where my loyalties lie, it’s with her,” Sandor answered, almost making Lenore tear up. Daenerys smiled.  
“I do not intend to punish you, Sandor Clegane. You brought my sister to me safely, and for that you have my gratitude. Ask anything you like of me and it is yours once I take the Seven Kingdoms. Lordships, lands, titles…” she offered.  
“That’s most generous, your Grace, but I care not for titles or lordships and that horse piss.” His rough language made Daenerys raise an eyebrow at him. “All I ask for is my childhood home, Clegane Keep, after I kill my brother. And until then a place in your service.” Lenore smiled, she was so proud of him.  
“Clegane Keep is yours, as is any aid you might need in killing the Mountain. I would offer you a place in my queensguard, but queensguards don’t marry, and you’re already married,” Daenerys contemplated, and Sandor shrugged.  
“There are other ways to serve. I can be your sword shield, protecting you or anyone you see in need of protection,” he suggested. Daenerys nodded.  
“Very well. You’ve done a good job protecting my sister so far. You shall continue doing it,” she said, and Sandor bowed his head to accept. Daenerys smiled. “Good. You both must be weary after such a long journey. I will see that you have a chamber to suit your needs, and we shall have baths drawn for you and supper sent up to your room.” She looked at Lenore. “I’ll send for you after, and we can talk,” she said softly. Lenore nodded eagerly and took Daenerys’ hand.  
“Thank you,” she whispered with a smile, before she and Sandor were escorted through the pyramid and into a rather large chamber. It was airy, with lots of light coming in through the big windows and archways. The archways led out to a balcony. Inside the chamber was a big bed to fit the both of them and two more. A round table with chairs, and a canape facing out another window. Just around the corner was the chamber pot, the washing bench and a large stone tub, which was now being filled up with hot water. Clean clothes were laid on the bed. A violet silk gown for Lenore, and black breeches and a matching tunic for Sandor.  
Once the tub was filled up, the servants left the chamber. Lenore sighed in relief as the hot water covered her.  
“I don't know how you can stand water that hot,” Sandor almost scolded. He didn't get in until the water had cooled a bit. They helped scrub each other clean as they talked.  
“You look just like her,” Sandor said while washing Lenore’s hair.  
“I know, it struck me too when I saw her. Her lips are fuller, her eyebrows thicker… My cheekbones are higher and my face a bit more pointy, but other than that…” Lenore reminissed. She heard some servants enter the room again and food was set on the table. After a while, they got out of the bath.  
“I haven’t felt this clean in years,” Sandor said, making Lenore chuckle.  
“That’s because you haven’t been. River water just doesn’t do the same thing as boiled water. Oh, look!” she exclaimed and skipped over to the table. Sandor watched her naked form as she picked up a branch of grapes and popped one in her mouth. “I haven’t had grapes in two and a half years! Oh they’re so good, have some, Sandor!” she encouraged. Sandor got dressed in his new black clothes, grabbed the silk dress and walked up to Lenore, eating a grape right from her hand. She giggled at him, and he helped her into the violet gown. It fit her remotely well, but was a little too loose around the waist and bust. She had lost weight during their travels due to the sparse amount of food, but she was determined to gain back her womanly curves. She kissed her husband on the lips before they dug into the meal in front of them. An hour or so later, the young woman who had stood next to Daenerys in the throne room, came to their chamber.  
“Good evening, my lady. My name is Missandei of Naath. The queen sent me to come get you. Are you ready?” she asked. She was beautiful and polite, and Lenore was reminded of Lisha. She nodded.  
“I’m ready,” she said and smiled, leaving Sandor in the chamber as she went to meet her sister. Daenerys’ quarters were even grander and bigger than Lenore and Sandor’s. She was the queen. She smiled when she saw Lenore. Missandei curtsied and left them.  
“I hope you were satisfied with your room?” Daenerys asked and poured two cups of wine.   
“It’s wonderful, thank you.”   
“Come, sit,” Daenerys said and motioned for the chair opposite the one she sat down on. Lenore joined her. Daenerys put one of the cups down in front of Lenore. “I hope you don’t mind the dress, it’s one of mine. The dressmakers will make you anything you want, just tell them, and they’ll have it made for you.”   
“Thank you, that’s very generous,” Lenore said and took a sip of wine. “Mm! I’ve had this before!” she exclaimed, and Daenerys raised her eyebrows. “Lord Ty- my friend, served me this once. I liked it so much I asked for a flagon,” she said and had another sip.  
“I’m glad you like it. Tell me, Laenerys, how did you get here? How did they treat you in King’s Landing, I want to know everything. What did they do to you there and how did you escape?” Daenerys asked. She looked genuinely curious and concerned.  
“No one’s called me Laenerys in years,” Lenore said with a smile.  
“You prefer Lenore?”  
“No, Laenerys is great.” She shook her head. “Um, well… King’s Landing wasn’t all too bad growing up. Cersei, the queen, she’s the worst of them all. She intended to use me as a hostage against you if you rose to power and came to take her throne.”   
“But now she can’t,” Daenerys chimed in with a smirk.  
“Now she can’t. Once her inbred bastard son became king, she let him do whatever he wanted. He tortured animals, had his knights beat people he didn’t like. I was among them. Two of the knights he often ordered to beat he also raped me when I was just a child.”   
“I’m so sorry,” Daenerys said with a sympathetic look on her face. Lenore smiled.  
“It’s alright now.”  
“How did you end up with the Hound?”  
“The first man I ever… did it with... by own will was Sandor. I didn’t really know him at all, but he was different, from all the rest of the proud, prancing, child-beating rapists calling themselves Ser. I snuck into his chamber one night, and Joffrey found out. To torture me, he forced me to marry the Hound.” Lenore smiled suddenly. “He thought Sandor would mistreat me, beat me and degrade me… he didn’t. Joffrey never expected any love would grow between us, but he was wrong.” Lenore sipped her wine and Daenerys seemed to ponder.  
“You love him, then?” she asked.  
“It took me close to two years to realise, but yes. With all my heart. And he loves me back.”   
“Good,” Daenerys said.  
“I hear we have something in common there. You too were married off against your will to some horse lord, but then you grew to love him.”   
“How do you know that?” she asked, leaning her head to the side.  
“Do you know who Varys is?”   
“King Robert’s spy master.”   
“Yes. He was my friend. He always carried small council information to me after the meetings. He let me know where you were and what you were doing. Ser Jorah Mormont told him. I didn’t see Ser Jorah anywhere here, where is he?” Lenore asked. Daenerys looked stern.  
“Jorah Mormont sold my secrets to my enemies. I exiled him,” she said harshly. Lenore looked shocked.  
“Daenerys, he hasn’t shared a secret of yours in over three years! He’s loyal to you!”   
“He was not!”   
“He was. Do you have any idea how frustrated the Lannisters were when he betrayed them for you?”   
“He betrayed  _ me _ and he never told me about it! I only found out because someone gave Ser Barristan a royal pardon meant for Jorah!” Lenore was confused.  
“Ser Barristan… Barristan Selmy?”  
“Yes. He was in my queensguard.”  
“I didn’t even know he was here, I only knew the Lannisters dismissed him for Sandor, and he didn’t take it well. I didn’t see him in throne room…”   
“No… He died only a few weeks ago. Murdered by my enemies. But not before he told me about you,” Daenerys said.  
“He knew about me?” Lenore asked, even more confused.  
“He knew you were alive, posing as Lenore Baelish. And he heard from a captain that you were in Astapor.”   
“You knew I was coming?” she asked, and Daenerys shook her head.  
“I knew you were in Astapor, I didn’t know why. I didn’t know if you knew where I was. I sent my Unsullied to all three cities in Slaver’s bay to find you. But you found me first.” Lenore smiled. She and Daenerys continued sharing their stories about how they grew up, what they had done, and where they had been. Daenerys had travelled all over Essos. From Pentos, to the Dothraki Sea, until her husband died and she left to find an army and ships. She had been to Qarth, to Astapor, Yunkai and now Meereen.  
“I saw one of your dragons, just outside Yunkai,” Lenore said. Shock spread on Daenerys’ face.  
“You saw Drogon?” she asked breathlessly. Lenore nodded.  
“I’ve never been a woman of faith, but when he landed right in front of me, approached me and nudged my hand… I knew the gods were real. Daenerys, he knew me,” she said. Her sister looked unnerved.  
“I didn’t know where he was… No one had seen him.”   
“He took off again after that.” Daenerys nodded sadly. Then she thought of something else. She straightened up and looked at Lenore.  
“I need your advice, Laenerys.” Lenore took a sip of wine and looked at her sister apprehensively. “When Meereen was still a slave city, it had a tradition…”   
“Yes?”   
“Meereen is known for its fighting pits. The masters would put slave against slave in the pit and bet as they fought to death. I ended slavery, and I ended the fighting pits. But… I now face pressure to reopen them. I’m at a loss for what to do. A man whose father owned slaves wants me to reopen them, and a man who grew up a slave but was set free after learning to fight in the pits also wants me to reopen them. You came from a free city, you’ve always been free, what do to you think I should do?” she asked. Lenore thoughts about it for a while but the answer seemed obvious.  
“You should reopen them,” she said. Daenerys sighed.  
“I was hoping you  _ wouldn’t  _ say that.”   
“Sorry. Honesty. You say you ended slavery. Freedom means making your own decisions. You may not understand why someone would choose to fight to death, but if they want to, they should be allowed to, regardless of what you think. My husband is a legendary fighter, he participated in similar tourneys in King’s Landing. He always killed his competition. That didn’t stop people from wanting to try their luck with him. Men are adventurous. You should reopen the pits,” Lenore stated and looked at her sister who frowned, pondering. Then she nodded.  
“Fine,” she said. Lenore smiled.  
“I’m glad to see you listen to the people around you. That makes for a good ruler.” Daenerys nodded again and finished her wine.   
“I have to say I was worried when I heard you had been married to the Hound. I only knew his reputation as a feared killer. When Ser Barristan told me about him and you I thought, ‘she will never be happy’. Not with a ferocious brute like that.”   
“As water rounds the stones, smoothing what was jagged, so does a woman’s love calm a man’s brute nature,” Lenore said, suddenly remembering a passage from the Seven Pointed Star. Daenerys smiled  
“I’m happy for you.” Then she proceeded to tell Lenore about the enemy she was facing here in Meereen. The ones who had killed Ser Barristan.  
“They call themselves the Sons of the Harpy. Cowards in gold masks. Keep an eye out for them. We’re doing everything we can to root them out and kill them, but we don’t know who leads them.”   
“I’ll gladly help you fight them.”


	30. Return of an old friend

The first night in Meereen was heavenly. Sandor and Lenore didn’t fall asleep until early in the morning, instead they spent all night making love and fucking on every surface of their chamber. He took her gently on the bed, with soft kisses and sweet whispers. She rode him wildly on the canape by the table. He ravaged her from behind over the fence of the balcony, then he had her against the wall, on the table, and finally in the bed again.  
“Everyone will hear us,” he murmured with a chuckle in her ear as he was slamming into her, fucking her into the soft mattress.  
“Let them hear,” Lenore moaned, tugging at Sandor’s hair and leaning her head back. He seized the opportunity to attack her neck with sloppy kisses.  
“Your sister might,” he suggested and bit down lightly.  
“Then she’ll know I’m ha- happy…” Lenore breathed and Sandor felt her clench around his as she came for him with a loud moan of his name. It was his favourite thing, his name falling off her lips as she came. Well, his second favourite thing.  
“Say it,” he growled and kissed her, feeling himself grow close.  
“I love you,” she whimpered through her heavy breathing, and that set him over the edge. With a primal growl he released inside her, holding her tightly as he did. He pulled out and rolled onto his back, pulling Lenore with him so she could rest her head on his chest. He chuckled as she was still panting. He pressed a kiss in her hair.  
“I could get used to this,” he said and started stroking her thigh with his hand.  
“Me too…” she whispered and closed her eyes.  
“I love you, Lenore,” Sandor said softly, in that way he never had before. Lenore smiled, tracing patterns on his large chest.  
“And I you, my giant,” she murmured before they both drifted off to sleep.  
The following day, Daenerys showed Lenore around the city. She showed her everything from the dressmakers, to the shops and inns, to the brothels where Unsullied soldiers had been killed. On their way back to the pyramid they met Sandor, who had been touring the city on his own.  
“My love. My queen,” he greeted with a small smirk and a bow of his head. Daenerys smirked and looked at Lenore meaningly.  
“I trust your quarters were to your satisfaction, last night?” she asked. Lenore blushed and grinned, and Sandor smiled.  
“My apologies, your grace, if you were disturbed,” Sandor said and kept from grinning. Daenerys raised her eyebrows and watched him. “My wife tends to get carried away,” he continued and eyed Lenore who gaped at him, looking as if she wanted to smack him. But then she laughed.  
“Well,” Daenerys said, still smirking. “Have the two of you ever talked about children?” she asked, and Lenore composed herself.   
“I’m afraid I can’t have children,” she admitted, and Daenerys stopped smiling.  
“You’re sure?” Lenore nodded.  
“A Grand maester told me. And I think… if he was wrong, I would know. We’ve been together a long time, after all.”  
“You have… tried?” Daenerys asked, folding her hands carefully, looking at Sandor. Lenore thought about how to reply, but Sandor was quicker.  
“Every time I’ve fucked her I’ve finished inside, if that’s what you mean,” he said simply. Lenore’s eyes widened, and Daenerys looked surprised but mildly amused.  
“Thank you, Sandor, for filtering your language in front of our queen!” Lenore said ironically. He gave her a snort-like laugh and shrugged.  
“She asked.”  
“That’s quite alright,” Daenerys said, keeping herself from laughing at her sister’s discomfort. “I only ask because of the future of our line. I can’t further it either,” she admitted, and Lenore felt sad.  
“The Targaryen line will end with you and me,” she realised. Daenerys nodded. Then a man walked up to them. Lenore had seen him before but never spoken to him. He had dark brown hair and a dark brown beard, his eyes gleaming with mischief.  
“My queen,” he said and bowed. “I don’t believe you’ve introduced us.” He grinned at Lenore and Sandor. Sandor already looked skeptical.  
“Daario, this is my sister Laenerys, and her husband Sandor Clegane. Laenerys, Sandor, this is Daario Naharis. He’s a Second Son.” Daario reached past Sandor for Lenore’s hand, taking it and kissing it. Lenore made a face, but then she smiled.  
“Pleased to meet you,” she said out of courtesy. Daario released her and looked at Sandor.  
“I’ve heard stories about you. The Hound. I always wanted to fight you,” he said arrogantly. Sandor raised his eyebrow and didn’t seem impressed.  
“You heard stories about me from halfway across the world and your thoughts were you wanted to fight me? You’re dumber than you look. And you look fucking dumb.”  
“Ouch, that’s so very hurtful,” Daario sassed with a smug smirk.  
“I knew a smug cunt like you back in King’s Landing. I would have killed a smug cunt like you in King’s Landing if the war hadn’t broken out. I once wanted to join the Second Sons. Glad I didn’t,” Sandor muttered and walked away. Daario looked after him, surprised, then turned to Lenore and Daenerys.  
“He seems nice,” he said and grinned, clasping his hands together. Daenerys cleared her throat awkwardly. Lenore looked at Daario.  
“He’d cut you down in a second,” she said with a smile before curtsying to Daenerys and leaving to follow her husband.  
Meereen truly was lovely, and as the weeks went by, Lenore started to know the city. One day after breakfast, she slipped into one her new gowns. It was a dusty pink, and quite revealing. She had taken inspiration from one of Daenerys’ dresses with no sleeves, and parts of the back and stomach showing. Sandor marvelled at her when he saw her.

“Do you have to wear that?” he asked, clearly bothered. She smiled and spun around.  
“Don’t you like it?” She knew full well he did.  
“Aye, I like it. And I’m sure every other man in Meereen will like it too.” He started walking towards her.   
“You’re jealous,” she teased. He snarled.  
“Of course I’m jealous. You’re mine. Those other whoresons out there aren’t worthy of looking at such a beauty,” he said and grabbed her waist. She truly loved the contrast in size between them. She smiled innocently and looked at him as he palmed at her exposed skin.  
“And you are?” she asked lightly.  
“Doesn’t matter, I’m looking at you and I intend to keep doing it for a long time,” he said and leaned down to kiss her hard, holding her face in one hand and her waist in the other. She squealed slightly and kissed him back eagerly and hungrily. His tongue in her mouth and his hands on her skin felt amazing. But then he pulled away.  
“I see why your sister tasked me with protecting you. You’ll need it if you walk around looking like that.” Sandor’s eyes were dark with lust, and Lenore smiled warmly and took his hand in hers.  
“Come then, my brave protector, we’re going for a walk.”  
Daenerys had reopened the fighting pits, and soon was the day of the great games. The queen was unhappy and anxious. But first it was the lower games, where champions competed for the chance to reach the great pit of Daznak. Daenerys’ new husband-to-be, whom she loathed, had insisted that it’s tradition for the queen to watch even the lower games. She had invited Lenore for moral support, and Sandor as well. As they were all walking up to the stand, Daenerys complained again about the fact that she had to be here.  
“Sitting through the great games will be bad enough,” she said to her intended, Hizdahr zo Loraq.  
“For generations, in the days leading up to the great games, it has been customary for our ruler to make the rounds at the lower pits, to pay the fighters there the honour of her presence,” Hizdahr informed her. He was an unbearable man. Polite, but still somehow unbearable. Daenerys rolled her eyes. She was only marrying him for politics. They sat down on the bench in front, and Lenore and Sandor on the bench behind. Sandor was still peering at Lenore, hating that she wore such a revealing dress in public yet he still wanted to rip it off her. He wasn’t a good man, so jealous, he knew that, but he didn’t care. She was his, and his only. He snuck an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him as a man came out into the pit to announce the fighters. He ran up close to the stand and bowed.  
“Your Grace. Your future Grace. You honour us all,” he said and bowed again before returning to the fighters, whispering in their ears. He clapped his hands, and the fighters all spoke in union.  
“We fight and die for your glory, oh glorious queen!” Daenerys still looked utterly unimpressed. Lenore leaned into Sandor as she watched the game unfold, and watched the fighters start to kill one another. Daenerys didn’t seem to like violence, but Lenore didn’t mind. She had sat through many tourneys in King’s Landing, fatal and not. When the first man died, Daenerys had never looked more uncomfortable and miserable. The former masters who were watching were all cheering.  
“I think I’ve seen enough,” she said and got up. Hizdahr stopped her.  
“Your Grace!” he exclaimed. “It-it’s a tradition for the queen to stay, until the victor has emerged.” She turned and faced him.  
“I’ve sacrificed more than enough for your traditions,” she snapped.  _ You’ve sacrificed nothing for his traditions,  _ Lenore thought. Before she had the chance to walk away though, a new fighter emerged in the pit. She watched him carefully, as if she knew him, and walked back to her spot.  
This man was different than the other fighters. He didn’t kill any of the men who attacked him, instead he used various ways of harming them and knocking them out. And he was doing it well, he was better than all the other fighters. Once all the other fighters were unconscious, this one walked up to the stand. Lenore watched eagerly what was unfolding. The man took off his helmet and looked directly at Daenerys. Lenore couldn’t see her facial expression, but there was a long silence, and then she shook her head.  
“Get him out of my sight,” she demanded, but there was sadness in her voice.  
“That’s Jorah Mormont,” Sandor whispered in Lenore’s ear when he noticed her confusion. She gasped.   
“Khaleesi, please,” Jorah begged, as two men were grabbing him. “I just need a moment of your time! I brought you a gift!” he shouted.  
“It’s true!” came a voice from a bit away. Lenore shot up instantly. She knew that voice well, she had known it all her life. Daenerys looked with wide eyes at the stranger, the man who had spoken. “He has.”   
“Who are you?” she asked.  
“I am the gift,” he said, raising his hands which were in chains. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, your Grace. My name is Tyrion Lannister.” Daenerys only stared at him for a good while. Lenore almost cried. Tyrion was alive. Now he noticed her, and she saw a smile graze his features. He had grown rugged, a big scar across his face, his hair darker, and he had a beard. Lenore heard Daenerys speak in Valyrian, and the two Unsullied soldiers guarding them jumped down and seized Tyrion, leading him away.  
“Where are you taking him?” Lenore asked and put her hand on Daenerys’ arm. Daenerys looked at her, still shocked.  
“To the throne room. You know this man?” she asked. Lenore nodded.  
“He’s my oldest friend. Please don’t harm him,” she said softly. Daenerys didn’t respond, instead she walked away, following the Unsullied back the Pyramid. Lenore nodded to Sandor and they followed as well. Lenore stood atop the stairs with Missandei, on each side of Daenerys on the throne. Sandor was on the floor with the Unsullied soldiers, and at the bottom of the stairs stood Tyrion Lannister and Jorah Mormont. Silence hung over the room, until Jorah opened his mouth.  
“Your Grace,” he started shakily, “I want to-”   
“You will not speak,” Daenerys interrupted him. She was furious, heartbroken and confused, but composed. She looked at Tyrion. “How do I know you are who you say you are?” she asked.  
“If only I were otherwise… but your sister, and her husband, can both attest to my claim,” he said. Lenore had missed his voice. She nodded when Daenerys looked at her for confirmation.  
“If you are Tyrion Lannister, why shouldn’t I kill you? To pay your family back for what it did to mine.”  _ Because his family hates him so you would only do them a service, _ Lenore thought.  
“You want revenge against the Lannisters? I killed my mother, Joanna Lannister, on the day I was born. I killed my father, Tywin Lannister, with a bolt to the heart. I am the greatest Lannister killer of all time,” Tyrion said, almost challenging. Lenore was shocked to hear about Tywin. Another name crossed off her list for her.  
“So I should welcome you into my service  _ because _ you murdered members of your own family?” Daenerys continued, and Tyrion squinted.  
“Into your service? Your Grace, we have only just met. It’s too soon to know if you deserve my service,” he said, and Lenore suppressed a grin.  _ You cocky little shit,  _ she thought.  
“If you’d rather return to the fighting pits… just say the word,” Daenerys said calmly. Her calmness worried Lenore. From the short time she had known her sister, she had learned that the queen was more prone to rash action when she spoke in this calm manner. When she was passionate, you could reason with her. Tyrion shifted where he stood and spoke.  
“When I was a young man, I heard a story about a baby born during the worst storm in living memory. She had no wealth, no lands, no army, only a name, and a handful of supporters. Most of whom probably thought they could use that name to benefit themselves. They kept her alive, moving her from place to place, often hours ahead of the men who’d been sent to kill her. She was eventually sold off to some war lord on the edge of the world, and that appeared to be that. And then, a few years later, the most well-informed person I knew, told me that this girl without wealth, lands or armies, had somehow acquired all three, in a very short span of time, along with three dragons. He thought she was our best, last chance at building a better world… Thought you were worth meeting, at the very least,” Tyrion finished his story.  
“And why are you worth meeting? Why should I spend my time listening to you?” Daenerys asked.  
“Because you cannot build a better world on your own. You have no one at your side who understands the land you want to rule,” Tyrion argued, and Lenore pursed her lips.  _ She has me.  _ “The strengths and weaknesses of the houses that will either join or oppose you.”  
“I will have a very large army. And very large dragons. And I have Laenerys.” Lenore smiled when her sister gave her credit.  
“Killing and politics aren’t always the same thing. Your sister knows this. When I served as Hand of the King, I did quite well with the latter, considering the king in question preferred torturing animals to leading his people. I could do an even better job advising a ruler worth the name, if that is indeed what you are.” Tyrion was very persuasive, and it was getting to the queen.  
“So you want to advise me? Very well. What would you have me do with him?” she asked, referring to Jorah Mormont. “I swore I would kill him if he ever returned.”  _ That would be foolish,  _ Lenore thought.  
“I know,” Tyrion said and started walking forward.  
“Why should the people trust a queen who can’t keep her promises?” Daenerys asked.  
“Whomever Ser Jorah was when he started informing on you, he is no longer that man. I can’t remember ever seeing a sane man so devoted to anything as he is to serving you. He claims he would kill for you, and die for you, and nothing I have witnessed gives me reason to doubt him.” Jorah looked like he agreed, and Daenerys’ gaze wavered. “And yet he did betray you.” Tyrion and Jorah exchanged a look, before Tyrion took a few steps up the stairs. Two Unsullied stopped him, but Daenerys signalled to let him pass, so they did.  
“Did he have an opportunity to confess his betrayal?” Tyrion asked Daenerys.  
“Yes. Many opportunities.” There was hurt in her voice.  
“And did he?”   
“No. Not until forced to do so.” Tyrion looked back to Jorah, who was standing with his head bowed in shame.  
“He worships you,” Tyrion said. “He is in love with you, I think.” Daenerys eyes fell down for a second when he said that. “But he did not trust you with the truth. An unpleasant truth, to be sure, but one of great significance to you. He did not trust that you would be wise enough to forgive him,” Tyrion finished.  
“So I should kill him,” Daenerys concluded.  _ What!? No!  _ Lenore thought, but said nothing.  
“A ruler who kills those devoted to her, is not a ruler who inspires devotion,” Tyrion answered.  _ Good, Tyrion.  _ “And you’re going to need to inspire devotion, a lot of it, if you’re ever going to rule across the Narrow Sea. But you cannot have him by your side when you do.”  _ Bad, Tyrion!  _ There was a long silence before Daenerys made up her mind.  
“Remove Ser Jorah from the city,” she demanded. Jorah looked extremely hurt, but followed the guards willingly. Lenore frowned.  
“All due respect, your Grace, but you’re making a terrible mistake,” Lenore said firmly. Daenerys looked at her, but ignored her advice and got up. Lenore followed her as she walked, and continued. “He knows the world you intend to rule. He’s a Mormont, he’s a Northerner. Have you ever met a Northerner? They’re incredibly stubborn, they won’t bend the knee to you unless they know you. And you can’t rule without the North, it’s bigger than the other six kingdoms combined. Jorah is the rightful lord of Bear Island! Exile him and you lose any possible ally you may have in the North.” Daenerys still didn’t listen, but spoke in Valyrian to the Unsullied soldiers, and they took Tyrion away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you guys liking Sandor and Lenore in this new environment?


	31. The Great Games

Lenore was hiding away in a corner by a wall, with her arms around Sandor’s neck. His hands were all over her and his lips were attacking hers. He couldn’t keep his hands off her when she wore that pink dress. He snaked his hands down her back and to her butt, growling quietly as he squeezed it, and Lenore giggled before she leaned back into the kiss. Then they heard someone clear their throat. They awkwardly pulled away from each other, but Sandor kept his hand around Lenore’s waist. They looked at the man who had cleared his throat.  
“Tyrion!” Lenore exclaimed and ran up to his, getting down on a knee and hugging him tightly. He smiled as he hugged her back.  
“Laenerys Targaryen,” he said when they broke apart. He had never uttered her true name out loud before.  
“Actually, it’s Laenerys Clegane,” she corrected him with a small smile. He seemed surprised.  
“Oh is it, now? You’re not a Targaryen?”  
“I have always been a Targaryen and I always will be. But I go by Clegane now,” she informed him. He smiled and looked at Sandor.  
“Found yourself a new queen, did you?” he asked. Sandor nodded to Lenore as he took a step forward and put his hand around her waist.  
“She’s the only queen I need. I go where she goes,” he said and almost glared at Tyrion.  
“Is that so? I knew you two were a force to be reckoned with,” Tyrion said with a grin. Lenore chuckled.  
“You’re allowed to walk freely now?” she changed the subject. Tyrion held up his hands, not in chains anymore.  
“Yes! Your sister has so kindly decided she won’t execute me,” Tyrion said.  
“Good. I advised against it.”   
“Oh I should hope so, otherwise I’ve done a terrible job as your friend all these years!” he exclaimed, and Lenore laughed.  
“I’m so glad you’re here! How did you get here, last I heard you were in a cell waiting to be executed for Joffrey’s murder!”  
“You knew about that?” Tyrion asked.  
“We uh… ran into… Podrick Payne, and Brienne. He told me. Before I sort of kicked his arse,” Lenore said apologetically, but smiled.  
“Jaime set me free. Varys took me overseas. He was taking me here, but Ser Jorah so rudely kidnapped me in Volantis and seized that role for himself,” Tyrion said.  
“Is Varys still coming?” Lenore asked with big eyes. Her heart jumped.  
“I should think so! He’ll be so happy to see you alive and well here. When did you get here?”  
“Just a few weeks ago!”   
“A few weeks! You’ve been missing from King’s Landing for over two and a half years! What have you been doing?” he asked, honestly surprised she hadn’t reached Daenerys earlier.   
“We spent a good while roaming the Riverlands with Arya Stark,” Lenore informed him.  
“ _ She’s  _ alive?” Tyrion asked.  
“Very much so. We parted ways in Braavos.”   
“Well I’m glad to hear it,” Tyrion said. “I best get going, I have a new duty as the queen’s advisor.”   
“You’ll do a good job, I’m sure of it,” Lenore said and hugged her old friend again before he took off. Sandor pulled Lenore towards him by the waist and kissed her again.  
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he said. Lenore laughed.  
“He’s my friend! He was looking at me normally!”  
“He was looking at you,” Sandor argued. Lenore shook her head but smiled, putting her hand on Sandor’s chest.  
“You’re a selfish man, Sandor Clegane,” she scolded lovingly. He looked at her.  
“Yes,” he said simply and picked her up bridal style, making her giggle as he carried her all the way to their chamber. When a man on the way looked at them strangely, Sandor quite literally barked at him, scaring him off.  
“You  _ are  _ a hound,” Lenore said with a grin.  
“Oh but you know it,” he replied and set her down just outside their door.  
After Sandor took his sweet time reminding Lenore of all the ways she belonged to him, they were heading off the great pit of Daznak, where Daenerys had given them permission to practice their sword fighting. On the condition that she got to watch. Lenore twirled her dragon sword in her hand, and Sandor wielded his great sword. Lenore wore a simple cotton dress, having decided that she needed to be able to fight in a dress as well as more practical clothes. After all, you could be attacked at any time, not just when in full gear. On her left hand she was wearing a sort of armour like chain with a few scales resembling those of a dragon.

Daenerys sat on the seat in the stand and watched as her tiny little sister fought the huge, angry Hound. She had been convinced that Laenerys would be on the ground within seconds. She was smaller, weaker, and her sword was half of what his was. But she was quicker, and she was skilled when it came to avoiding his attacks. Still, several times, Daenerys gasped as she was sure the Hound - Sandor - was going to slice her sister in two. Each time Laenerys escaped a hit, she grinned or laughed triumphantly. Their swords met in the middle and they battled for the upper hand. Sandor was winning, his brute strength overpowering her, but her bejewelled hand came up, grabbing Sandor’s sword, and with both her hands she managed to hold him off, pushing him backwards, and with a daring giggle she took a few steps back, running to the end of the pit, as Sandor chased her. She jumped up into the stand, and now taller than him they battled, steel clashing against steel as they hammered at each other.  
Daenerys was impressed at her sister’s skill. Perhaps she didn’t need protection after all. She jumped down from the stand,  _ over  _ Sandor’s head and landed behind him. Before he had whipped around, she had her sword pointed at his throat.  
“Dead!” she shouted triumphantly. Sandor growled. With his glove clad hand he grabbed her sword, chucked it to the side, backhanded her and with a grunt she lost her balance, falling into the sand next to her sword.  
“Dead,” Sandor retorted with his sword at her belly. She grinned, grabbing her sword again and literally jumping off her back and onto her feet, pointing her sword at him again.  
“I have plenty of life in me,” she argued and their swords met again. They fought for several minutes, before Laenerys made one small misstep, and Sandor had grabbed her by her hair, stuck his foot in front of her and made her trip.  
“I’ve told you a thousand times not to lunge. Not my fault you don’t listen,” he said dismissively when Laenerys made an angry noise from the ground.  
“‘Not my fault you don’t listen’,” she mocked, getting up again and attacking him hard. He blocked each and every hit she threw his way, and when she was about to strike again, Sandor kicked her in the stomach, resulting in her flying backwards, and Daenerys gasped.  
This was shocking to her, but Laenerys didn’t seem to mind. She was used to it. She just groaned and got on her feet once more. This time, as their swords met, she led them backwards, close to where Daenerys was sitting and watching. She jumped onto the stand again, grabbing the post and swinging around it, slashing her sword inches above Daenerys’ head before it came back and met Sandor’s neck, with the flat side.  
“Dead! Don’t go where your enemy leads you, see I  _ do  _ listen!” she shouted, throwing her sword into the sand and jumping into Sandor’s arms. He caught her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, giggling before she kissed him. He set her down and shook his head.  
“I think you might be ready for two swords,” he said. This statement had Laenerys jumping up and down.  
“Really!?” she exclaimed and flung her arms around his neck. Sandor held her there as he looked up at Daenerys.  
“You know Ser Arthur Dayne?” he asked her.  
“The Sword of the Morning,” Daenerys responded. Sandor nodded.  
“Her hero. She dreams of wielding two swords like him,” he informed Daenerys while looking at Lenore. Daenerys smiled.  
“It’s a good dream.” Lenore grinned and kissed her husband’s cheek. Daenerys walked down from the stand and up to them. “Tomorrow is the Great Games,” she said.  
“I know,” Lenore said with a smile, making Daenerys almost roll her eyes.  
“You will come and watch with me, won’t you?” she asked.  
“Of course! I can’t wait to see the difference between these games and the ones in King’s Landing.”   
“I can’t believe you actually enjoy watching men hack each other to pieces,” Daenerys said, shaking her head. Lenore chuckled.  
“That’s what happens when you grow up in King’s Landing. You need to loosen up,” she answered and winked. Now Daenerys rolled her eyes, and they walked back to the Pyramid together.  
The day had come of the Great Games, and in its honour, Lenore had had a special dress made. It was made completely out of chainmail and dragon scale armour. Underneath it she had a black jerkin and a matching pair of tights. The shoulder pauldrons on Sandor’s armour were completely beaten up, so Lenore had also had some new ones made for him, with spikes and in the shape of wings.

“You need to show Targaryen support now,” she told him while she attached the pauldrons to the armour he was wearing. He grunted.  
“Do I really?” he asked.  
“Yes, and the more you whine, the more armour I’ll have made for you, with even more dragons,” she said proudly. He chuckled at her manners.  
“Fine,” he agreed and kissed her. With their armour on and swords attached, they walked down to the pit of Daznak together. It was already crowded with Meereenese locals.  
“My Lady, you look marvellous,” Tyrion complimented her when she walked up to the stand to him, Daario, Missandei and Daenerys.  
“Thank you, my lord,” Lenore said with a smile and a courtesy. There was a seat for her as well, but she chose to stand, as she had a better view then. There was an empty seat for Hizdahr as well. He was missing. Daario Naharis was convinced that Hizdahr was the one leading the Sons of the Harpy. He couldn’t say why, but he was sure of it.  
Horses were galloping in circles inside the pit, and the crowd was already cheering and clapping. Daenerys looked as miserable as she had in the smaller pits. A few Unsullied soldiers were guarding them all in the stand. Targaryen banners were hanging in various places in the arena. Hizdahr appeared now, walking up to them and taking his seat next to Daenerys. She glared at him in his all yellow flowy robes.  
“Where have you been?” she asked, rather rudely.  
“Just making sure everything is in order,” he said, ever so courteous. Lenore wanted to barf. The men riding the horses rode back into the alley, and Lenore heard drumming. A man with long hair and a patterned robe walked into the middle of the pit. He extended his arms, and the whole arena quieted down. Then he spoke in Valyrian. Lenore only understood a few words. She understood  _ Meereen, blessings, queen,  _ and  _ great games.  _ The arena cheered again, and two fighters ran into the pit. A big man, and a small one. This time, Missandei leaned back and translated to Lenore when the announcer spoke.  
“Our first contest. Who will triumph? The strong, or the quick?” she said at the same time as the announcer.  
“The strong,” Sandor spoke calmly, winking at Lenore. Daenerys shot them both a glare, as if telling them not to make bets. The fighters swore something in Valyrian to the “glorious queen”. Lenore figured it was the same vow as last time.  _ We fight and die for your glory, oh glorious queen.  _ Daenerys looked unhappy. The announcer left the arena, and everyone looked at Daenerys.   
“They’re waiting for you,” Hizdahr said quietly. “Clap your hands.” Daenerys looked insecure, but finally she raised her hands and clapped once. Cheering broke out once more, and the fighters turned to face each other. The big one was hacking and slicing, but the small man ducked and escaped the hits skillfully. When the small one got a slice into the big one’s back, Daario chuckled and leaned to speak to Daenerys.  
“That one, the smaller man, no question, that’s where you should put your money” he said with great confidence.  
“The smaller man it is,” Tyrion chimed in.  
“I’m not putting my money anywhere,” Daenerys countered. Hizdahr spoke.  
“Kings and queens never bet on the games,” he informed Daario. “Perhaps you should go find someone who does.  
“I’ll bet on the strong one,” Sandor said gruffly and shoved two gold coins in Daario’s hand. Lenore wasn’t sure if it was because he really believed in the big man, or if he just hated Daario and wanted to bet against him. Daario made a face.  
“People used to bet against me when I fought in the pits,” he said to Hizdahr before turning to Daenerys. “He would have bet against me. Common novice mistake.”   
“I’ve spent much of my life in this arena. And in my experience, larger men do triumph over smaller men, far more often than not,” Hizdahr said. Daenerys chimed in.  
“Has your experience ever involved of any actual fighting? You, yourself. Have you ever tried to kill another man who wants to kill you?” she asked, and Daario smirked.   
“Whenever I got into a pit with a beast like that one, the crowd saw me, all skin and bone back then, and they saw a pile of angry muscles ready to murder me.” He whipped out his dagger, the one in the shape of a nude woman, and twirled it in front of Hizdahr’s face. “They couldn’t get their money out fast enough. But the pile of muscles never had any muscles here.” He pointed the dagger at his own throat. “Or… here!” He pointed the dagger at Hizdahr’s pulse point, and he gasped slightly. “And the big men were always too slow to stop my dagger from going where their muscles weren’t. Yes, whenever I saw a beast like that one, standing across from me, making his beast faces,” he looked at Daenerys who was smirking at him. “I knew I could rest easy,” he finished, and not two seconds after, the big man chopped the smaller man’s head clean off, and his body fell to the ground. Sandor let out a loud snort-like laugh, and Hizdahr looked pleased. Daario retreated without saying a word, then he chucked four gold coins at Sandor.  
“Thank you,” he said with a grin and tucked the money in his pouch. Daario looked away angrily. Lenore couldn’t help grinning. Tyrion looked uncomfortable.  
“You don’t approve?” Hizdahr asked him.  
“No,” he said honestly. “There’s always been more than enough death in the world for my taste. I can do without it in my leisure time.” This resonated with Daenerys.  
“Fair enough,” Hizdahr answered. “Yet, it’s an unpleasant question, but what great thing has ever been accomplished without killing, or cruelty?”  
“It’s easy to confuse what is with what ought to be, especially when what is, has worked out in your favour.”  
“I’m not talking about myself,” Hizdahr insisted. “I’m talking about the necessary conditions for greatness.”   
“That, is greatness?” Daenerys asked in a harsh tone, looking at the smaller man’s body which was being dragged away through the sand.  
“That, is a vital part of the great city of Meereen. It existed long before you or I, and will remain standing long after we return to the dirt.”   
“My father would have liked you…” Tyrion said, and it made Lenore chuckle. Yes, Tywin Lannister probably would have loved Hizdahr zo Loraq. The announcer came out into the pit again, with six fighters this time, announcing them in Valyrian.  
“One day, your great city will return to the dirt as well,” Daenerys said to Hizdahr.  
“At your command?” he challenged.  
“If need be.”  
“And how many people will die to make this happen?”  
“If it comes to that, they will have died for a good reason,” Daenerys insisted. Hizdahr nodded to the fighters in the pit.  
“Those men think they’re dying for a good reason,” he said.  
“Someone else’s reason.”   
“So your reasons are true and theirs are false? They don’t know their own minds but you do?” he asked. This was the first time Lenore had ever taken his side in an argument, but she thought he was right.  
“Well said. You’re an eloquent man,” Tyrion chimed in. “Doesn’t mean you’re wrong. In my experience, eloquent men are right, every bit as often as imbeciles,” he finished, and both Daenerys and Hizdahr looked at him strangely. But then they heard a familiar voice from the pit, swearing to the glorious queen. Jorah Mormont, with a sword in his hand, had just been announced. Everyone in the royal stand grew quiet, waiting for Daenerys’ reaction. She had to clap her hands for the fighting to begin. For five men to try to kill Jorah. He had betrayed her, but she had known him for years, and it wasn’t easy for her to just condemn him to death in a game she already despised.  
“Your Grace…” Hizdahr started, but was interrupted by Daario.  
“Shut your mouth,” he ordered. Daenerys brought her hands together, slowly, hesitant. But then she clapped. Cheering broke out at once. The fighters fought in pairs against each other, with Jorah Mormont first facing a big, dark man wielding a spear of sorts. The spear wielding man was good, knocking Jorah into the dirt quickly, but he managed to defend himself and get up. But suddenly, with a hit, the man managed to disarm Jorah, throwing his sword away. Lenore couldn’t see clearly what happened, another pair of fighters blocked her view, as one of them died. Then she saw Jorah again, with a dagger in his hand, bringing his opponent to the ground and stabbing him in his chest. Four men left living.  
Jorah was now up against a rather small but quick man. Lenore thought his fighting style resembled Arya’s waterdance. Maybe he was Braavosi. All his slashes against Jorah resulted in minor cuts to his face or waist. Another fighter killed his opponent with a jump, shoving his spear through the bare chested man’s stomach. And now there were three. Jorah was once again knocked to the dirt by the very skilled maybe-Braavosi fighter. The man walked up to Jorah, pointing his sword at his throat, as Jorah laid on his back, his eyes fixed on Daenerys. Lenore’s heart ached for him. He truly loved her.  
“You can end this!” Tyrion said to Daenerys, leaning forward.  
“She cannot,” Hizdahr disagreed.  
“You can!” Tyrion insisted. He had a good heart. Daenerys looked worried, fearsome, but she sat frozen. Just as the man was about to kill Ser Jorah, the third fighter shoved his spear in his back, killing him. Lenore breathed out. Jorah still had a chance. Daenerys looked relieved. Jorah grabbed his sword again and got up, focused on his last opponent, who was fully armoured from head to toe.  
As they fought, it was clear who the crowd preferred. They cheered the loudest every time the Meereenese fighter has the upper hand. He knocked Jorah over and went for the finishing blow, but Jorah grabbed his spear with both hands, and shoved him backwards, rising to his feet again. Finally, Jorah did a somersault, getting in close to the man and sticking him in the stomach, killing him. The crowd booed loudly. Daenerys’ facial expression was unreadable as Jorah stood, watching her. His opponent was dying, crouching on his knees with Jorah’s sword through his body and his own spear still in his hand.  
Suddenly, Jorah took his opponent’s sword, and aimed it straight at Daenerys, chucking it forward. No one had a second to react before the spear flew right past Daenerys, hitting a man in the chest. Daario had pulled Daenerys to the side, but he wouldn’t have had to. Jorah hadn’t aimed at Daenerys, the man who laid on the ground with the spear through his chest wore a gold mark, Lenore saw when she looked at him. He was a Son of the Harpy. Jorah had just saved Daenerys’ life, and she stared at him. As the Harpy died, several more were rising in the crowd. They were everywhere, men in colourful robes and gold masks. Lenore and Sandor drew their swords, and Lenore found herself thankful for her all-armour dress.  
“Protect your queen!” Daario shouted, and Daenerys turned her attention towards him, now seeing all the Harpies in the crowd. They were slitting people’s throats and stabbing them for no reason, and everyone was panicking. It didn’t take long before a few of them were heading towards the royal stand. Daario killed one with his Dothraki arakh, and Lenore slit another’s throat with her Dragon sword. Just as another was lunging at her, Sandor cut him in half before he could even raise his hand. Daario kicked another Harpy Lenore’s way, and she put her sword through his neck, killing him.  
“Your Grace, your Grace! Come with me, I know a way out!” Hizdahr shouted to Daenerys, but before she could take a step towards him, a Harpy was at him, stabbing him through his chest. Daario was wrong, Hizdahr wasn’t their leader. The look on his face showed his shock. He snapped out of it, killing a Harpy heading towards Daenerys, and Jorah was now up in the stand, killing another one. Jorah, Daario and Daenerys exchanged looks, as if they were all agreeing to put their anger at Jorah out of the way, at least for now. Jorah offered his hand to Daenerys, and she took it, letting him lead her down, but not before looking Lenore’s way.  
“Laenerys!” she urged her sister to come with her. Lenore smiled, shoving another dead Harpy’s body in front of her.  
“Go, my queen, I’ll be fine!” she assured her, and returned to fighting off the Harpies. Daenerys gave Hizdahr one last look before following Jorah. Tyrion saw a dagger on the floor and picked it up. He was no fighter, but he had killed. A Harpy was coming for Missandei, who was crouching behind a canape, and Lenore was about to head for it, but Tyrion was there before her, stabbing the Harpy in its back, saving Missandei’s life.  
“Stay close,” he urged her and took her hand, following Daenerys who was being hoisted down by Daario into the pit, where Jorah caught her. Sandor and Lenore joined up, fighting back to back as they headed towards the edge of the stand. Lenore took his hand and jumped, from the stand into the pit. They landed on their feet and immediately resumed their back to back positions, kicking and piercing and slitting the throats of the Harpies in their way. Jorah was leading Daenerys and Daario into one of the tunnels, but the gate closed, and another Harpy appeared. Jorah killed it, and they were off to the other side. Tyrion and Missandei joined up with them, Daenerys extending her hand to Missandei.  
“Protect your queen!” Daario shouted again, and Unsullied soldiers begun forming a ring around them. Sandor and Lenore joined too, protecting Daenerys and the rest of the company. They ran together through the pit, heading for the other exit, but new Harpies were coming from all tunnels, forcing them to stop in the middle of the pit, surrounded. There were hundreds of them. Some in robes and some with bare chests, but all of them in the same, golden mask. Daenerys, Missandei and Tyrion were deepest inside the circle. Jorah, Daario, Sandor and Lenore formed the second tier, and Unsullied soldiers the outer.  
As the Harpies started attacking again, they all defended their queen. One of the Harpies was charging through the Unsullied soldiers, heading straight for the queen, but Lenore was in front of her in a second, chopping the Harpy’s head clean off. Daenerys was shocked, but Lenore looked at her, reassuringly, just as Daario killed another one who was coming at her from the back. A Harpy with a spear was now coming at Lenore, and she fought him off until he got in a cut at her arm and managed to knock her sword out of her hands. With a gasp, she ducked, and heard Sandor’s familiar bark from behind her, a sound of steel through flesh, then blood splattered all over her. She grabbed her sword again and then Sandor’s extended hand, getting to her feet. He was holding onto her bleeding arm as they sliced through several more Harpies together.  
Daenerys and Missandei looked the most terrified, as they stood together, holding hands. Daenerys closed her eyes, not daring to watch, but she opened them again when a familiar screech was heard from the sky. Everyone turned at once. The screech sounded again, and a cloud of fire appeared in the sky. Through it flew the large, black and red dragon. Drogon. The fighting seized, and Drogon flew in circles over the pit, lower and lower until he landed in the sand with another screech. A smile appeared on both Daenerys and Lenore’s faces, and several Harpies took off running. Though one was running right at them. Daario and Jorah got ready to attack, but Drogon came forward, taking the Harpy in his mouth and ripping him to shreds, discarding the pieces of his body. Then, he started breathing fire on groups of Harpies. Lenore watched with a certain satisfaction how the cowards burned. But then a spear hit Drogon’s neck, and she gasped. He screeched, and burned this Harpy and another group. This didn’t stop the ones not on fire from chucking their spears at Drogon. A few missed but a few hit, and Daenerys looked worried.  
“Drogon!” she shouted, getting the dragon’s attention. Lenore, Sandor, Jorah and Daario continued fighting the Harpies, while Daenerys walked towards her dragon. She pulled the spear out from his neck, and this seemed to anger him, as he looked at her and screeched loudly, spitting saliva all over. She didn’t flinch, and soon he stopped his noise, blinking at Daenerys, his mother, and she extended her hand to him. She was about to stroke his face, but another spear hit him, making him cry out. Daario chucked his knife at another Harpy about to throw a spear, and Daenerys realised she had to get her dragon out of there before he was too wounded.  
She walked forward with determined steps, and Lenore watched as her sister climbed atop the dragon’s back, like no one had for hundreds of years. Drogon allowed this, while continuing to screech at the Harpies, scaring them off.  
“Vlah,” Daenerys said, and Drogon started walking forward. The group of fighters had to run to both sides, allowing the dragon to pass, and he sprung off his feet, flying into the air. Daenerys looked slightly insecure and regretful just as he took off, but her expression soon changed, marvelling at the new experience of flying on her dragon’s back. Lenore watched as her sister disappeared into the clouds, and when she looked back at the pit, not a single Harpy was left. She collapsed onto her knees, and Sandor found her quickly.  
“You alright, girl?” he asked, pulling her up and letting her use his body for support.  
“I’m good. You?”  
“Not a scratch,” he said with a tiny smile. They were safe. For now.


	32. The quest to find the queen

Sandor was patching up the cut Lenore had received to her arm.  
“Your first scar,” he said with a grin. Lenore pouted at him.  
“I don’t like it. I like being pretty,” she insisted as she looked at the rather long scab on her upper left arm. Sandor almost glared at her.  
“You think you won’t be pretty because of a little scar on your arm? Hmpf,” he snorted. Lenore looked up at him with her big eyes.  
“You don’t think it’s ugly?”  
“No, little lady, I don’t think it’s ugly. You could have a thousand scars all over you and you’d still be the prettiest woman in Westeros  _ and _ Essos,” Sandor said harshly. A smile found its way onto Lenore’s face. She leaned up and kissed her husband lovingly, stroking his cheek before pulling away.  
“Come on, we should get to the throne room,” she said, and they walked together down to the throne room where Tyrion sat atop the stairs, and Daario and Jorah further down on the stairs. Tyrion was the only one who had changed his clothes. Jorah, Daario, Sandor and Lenore were still wearing their bloodied armour.  
“You love her, don’t you?” Tyrion asked both Daario and Jorah. “How could you not? Of course, it’s hopeless for the both of you. A sellsword from the fighting pits, a disgraced knight… Neither one of you is fit consort for a queen. But… we always want the wrong woman…” Daario looked at Tyrion then at Jorah.  
“Does he always talk so much?” he asked, and Jorah nodded. Lenore smiled.  
“Tyrion talks more than anyone I’ve ever known, that’s why he’s so damn good at it,” she said, and she and Sandor joined the men sitting on the stairs. Then Missandei walked in, with a man in no shirt and bandages all over his stomach. Lenore figured it was Grey Worm, the commander of the Unsullied. Daenerys had told her he had been wounded in the fight that Ser Barristan died in.  
“Jorah the Andal,” Grey Worm said suspiciously. Lenore frowned.  _ Jorah’s no Andal, he’s a Northerner,  _ she thought to herself.  
“Torgo Nudho,” Jorah responded in Valyrian.  
“He should not be here,” Grey Worm insisted.  
“No, but he is,” Daario chimed in.  
“Our queen ordered him exiled from city.” Grey Worm’s accent was strong and he didn’t fully master the Common Tongue.  
“Our queen would be dead if not for him,” Daario said, even though it seemed to pain him to admit. Missandei spoke in Valyrian to Grey Worm. Lenore could make out the words  _ true  _ and  _ little man.  _ Missandei looked at Tyrion.  
“Krubo,” he said. It meant dwarf. Lenore would have to ask Missandei if she would be willing to teach her Valyrian. She hated not understanding conversations. Tyrion continued speaking his broken Valyrian, saying something about apologies and nostrils. Missandei corrected his last word.   
“Puñila,” she said.  
“Puñila,” he repeated. “Thank you.”  
“I am sorry,” Grey Worm said. “Sorry I not there to fight for our queen.”  
“You missed a good scrap,” Daario said. “Lucky the queen’s sister has arrived with her husband.” He nodded to Lenore and Sandor. Lenore smiled awkwardly at Grey Worm.  
“None of that matters now, the longer we sit here bantering, the longer Daenerys is out there in the wilderness,” Jorah said and stood up.  
“He’s right,” Tyrion agreed and rose. “The dragon headed north, if we want to find her, that’s where we’ll need to go.”  
“We?” Jorah asked. “You’re a Lannister. The queen intends to remove your family from power.”  
“And I intend to help her do it,” Tyrion sassed, making Lenore smile.   
“You’ve been here for how many days now?” Jorah retorted. “I fought for her for years. Since she was little more than a child.”   
“You betrayed her!” Tyrion argued, truthfully but unnecessary.   
“Careful now.” Jorah looked angered.  
“And she exiled you, twice I believe!”   
“The second time thanks to you!”  
“Don’t blame me for your crimes, Mormont!”   
“Shut up, the both of you!” Lenore shouted and stood up angrily. “We don’t have time for this!”  
“She’s right, we don’t,” Daario said, then pointed to Tyrion. “And he’s right, our queen exiled Jorah, and he’s right,” he pointed to Jorah. “Jorah saved her life. Perhaps she feels differently about him now. Perhaps not, the only way we’ll know is if we ask her.” Lenore rolled her eyes. If she had her way, she would find one of Daenerys’ dragons, get on it, and search for her sister herself. But she remained in the throne room, listening to these three men bicker.  
“Fine fine, I suppose he can join us, just as long as he promises not to kill me in my sleep,” Tyrion quipped.  
“Gods, Tyrion, I love you, but if you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll punch you in the face,” Lenore almost growled. He looked surprised, opened his mouth, then closed it again.  
“If I ever kill you, your eyes will be wide open,” Jorah said to Tyrion, and Lenore shot him a warning glare. Sandor smirked at her behaviour.  
“Forgive me, but why would we bring you?” Daario asked Tyrion. Again he was surprised.  
“Pardon me?”  
“Have you ever tracked animals in the wilderness?”  
“Not precisely, but I have other skills that will be very usef-”   
“Can you fight?”  
“I have fought. I don’t claim to be a great warrior.” He put his hands on his hips decisively.  
“Are you good on a horse?” Daario asked, and Tyrion looked uncomfortable.  
“Middling.”   
“So mainly you talk,” Daario assessed.  
“And drink. I’ve survived so far!” Tyrion insisted.  
“Which I respect, but you would not help us on this expedition.”  
“Which is why you’re not going!” Lenore chimed in, urgently wanting to be on their way. Daario turned to her.  
“And neither are you,” he said. Her eyes widened and she looked at him defiantly.  
“Excuse you?” she asked in a high pitched voice. “She’s my sister-”   
“Which is why you must stay! The people will know you share her motives. And Tyrion needs to stay, too. None of us has experienced governing a city. Except for him.” He turned to Tyrion again. “You want to prove your value to the queen, prove it right here in Meereen.”  
“He’s a foreign dwarf who barely speaks the language, why would the Meereenese listen to him?” Jorah asked. Tyrion looked almost offended.   
“They wouldn’t,” Daario said. “They  _ will  _ listen to Grey Worm.”  
“I’ll come with you. I’ll find our queen,” he insisted, and Missandei gently held his arm.  
“You are not strong enough to go anywhere,” she said softly.  
“I am!”  
“He is, he’s the toughest man with no balls I ever met,” Daario stated. “But you still can’t go. The people believe in you, they know you speak for the queen.”  
“It’s true. Only the Unsullied can keep the peace in Meereen,” Missandei agreed. “If you leave, half this city will consume the other half.”   
“And Missandei… Our queen trusts no one more than Missandei,” Daario said. “Certainly not me. The queen’s sister, the queen’s closest confidant, the commander of the Unsullied, and a foreign dwarf with a scarred face. Good fortune, my friends! Meereen is ancient and glorious. Try not to ruin her.” He gave Tyrion a meaning look before he walked down the stairs. “You, however, could be an asset,” he said as he approached Sandor. He looked at Daario, unimpressed.  
“The queen charged me with protecting her sister. Think this sorry bunch will need protecting if they’re gonna try to rule Meereen without said queen. I’m staying right here,” he said, calmly and firmly. Daario nodded.  
“Looks like it’s you and me, Jorah the Andal. Let’s find some good horses, we have so much to talk about.” He patted Jorah’s arm and left, Jorah following behind him.  
Tyrion looked so uncomfortable as he slowly walked down the steps.  
“Still want to punch me in the face?” he asked Lenore as they walked outside together, Sandor a bit behind him.  
“I’d rather punch Daario. I hate that he’s right,” Lenore said.  
“Are you not bothered by how bloody your dress is?”  
“When you spend two years in the same tights and tunic, you get used to feeling disgusting,” she answered. Tyrion looked up at her, and they both chuckled. Soon, they were standing by a wall, looking out over the land, watching Daario and Jorah ride off together to try to find Daenerys. They stood in silence, until quiet footsteps appeared behind them.  
“Hello, old friends.” Lenore whipped around.  
“Varys!” she exclaimed, about to leap forward and throw her arms around him, but stopping herself. He was more squeamish about blood than she was.  
“Laenerys,” he said lovingly and instead of hugging her, he took her hands in his. He was as warm as she remembered.  
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said with a smile. “Ever since Tyrion showed up, I’ve longed for you to come.”   
“Now I have come,” he concluded and smiled back. He turned to Tyrion with a scolding face. “I thought we were so happy together, until you abandoned me,” he jested.  
“I suppose there’s no point asking how you found us?” Tyrion mused.  
“The birds sing in the west, the birds sing in the East, if one knows how to listen,” Varys informed him. “They told me you’ve already found favour with the mother of dragons.”   
“Well… she didn’t execute me. Lenore vouched for me. So that’s a promising start. Now the heroes are off to find her. And I’m stuck here, trying to placate a city on the brink of civil war. Any advice for an old comrade?”  
“Information is the key. You need to learn your enemies strengths and strategies, you need to learn which of your friends are  _ not  _ your friends.”   
“If only I knew someone with a vast network of spies,” he mused.  
“If only,” Varys teased back. He looked out over the landscape. “A grand old city… choking on violence, corruption and deceit. Who could possibly have any experience managing such a massive, ungainly beast?” Tyrion and Varys looked at each other and smiled.  
“I did miss you,” Tyrion admitted.  
“Oh I know,” Varys said almost smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, comments and feedback are always welcome! They make my day!


	33. A city without its queen

Sandor helped Lenore clean up her dress, washing all the blood off of it. There was a knock on their door.  
“Come in,” Lenore said. The door opened and Varys walked in. Sandor raised his eyebrow while continuing to scrub the blood off Lenore’s back, throwing the rag away when he was finished.  
“You two certainly have changed,” Varys cooed as he came closer. “Last time I saw you, you were miserable together.”   
“Things have changed indeed,” Lenore said, getting up, and finally hugging her old friend. Varys smiled and wrapped his arms around Lenore, stroking her hair like he used to do when she was little.  
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said when she pulled back. “Albeit I wish under different circumstances.”   
“Yes, I was so looking forward to meeting the dragon queen,” Varys said.  
“Lenore should be queen,” Sandor spat. Lenore turned her head and looked at him strangely. “What? I think you’d be better at it,” he said simply, taking a bite of an apple.  
“That’s treason,” Lenore scolded. Sandor shrugged.  
“Piss on that. Besides, if she’s dead, you’ll  _ have  _ to be queen.”   
“She’s not dead! And I don’t want to be queen!” Lenore exclaimed, crossing her arms and staring at her husband.  
“You gonna let the fucking Lannister cunts keep ruling if your sister dies? It’s your damned responsibility to continue her plans if she can’t,” Sandor insisted, looking solemnly grim.  
“She’s not dead!” Lenore shouted and stomped out of the room. Sandor looked at Varys who was eyeing him apprehensively.  
“The fuck you looking at? You know I’m right,” he muttered, discarding his half eaten apple.  
“I do, but I don’t think she does,” Varys said, looking after Lenore who was speeding down the stairs and away.  
“Guess we’re still a little miserable,” Sandor said with a small chuckle and poured himself a cup of wine. “Want some?” he asked Varys, who shook his head. “Suit yourself.”  
Lenore was heading off to find Missandei. She had agreed to teach Lenore Valyrian, and it was time for their first lesson. Lenore struggled with the spelling, but her pronunciation of the words she learned was good. She was first taught the basics, like how to introduce herself and how to announce her queen.  
“You learn fast,” Missandei praised her after the lesson.  
“Valyrian should be my mother tongue. Lord Varys taught me a bit when I was little, but I wasn’t very receptive back then. I never thought I would need it. Of course now I regret it bitterly,” Lenore responded. Missandei smiled.  
“We can practise every day. You typically sword train with your husband every morning, do you not?”  
“I do.”   
“Come to me after that training and soon you’ll be fluent in the language,” she said and smiled again.  
“Thank you, that’s so very nice of you.” They parted ways, and Lenore took a walk through the city.  
Sandor was in the forge, picking up the sword he had had made for Lenore. It wasn’t as fancy as her first one, but it was functional, and around the same size. She wanted to learn to wield two swords at once, and now she would. He met her on the way back, and tossed the sword at her. She was surprised but she caught it.  
“Get up there,” he said, and she pulled both swords out, backing up the stairs and onto the stone wall. Sandor unsheathed his sword, and they began. He gave her no instructions whatsoever, forcing her to just wing it. She dropped her left sword at least a hundred times during that training, but finally she started getting the hang of it. And once she did, that’s when Sandor started giving her tips on how to wield the second sword, how to use it in harmony with the other. They practiced until Lenore’s arms gave out, and she could barely lift the swords any longer.  
They practiced every morning, and after each sword practice, Lenore headed to Missandei for her Valyrian lessons. She was getting better in both areas. Now she and Sandor were up on the wall again, fighting. Sandor was backing Lenore up against the stairs, and she couldn’t stop him, couldn’t get around him. She slipped, and fell backwards with a scream, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her up again. She glared at him.  
“Don’t do that again!” she scolded.  
“Why not? That’s what your enemy would do. You should know how to act if you’re being backed against a steep cliff.”   
“Oh like you did with Brienne, you mean?”   
“I was half unconscious already when that bitch flung me off a cliff! If I hadn’t been, I’d have turned around and jumped off it,” Sandor rasped back. Lenore was about to answer, but Sandor stared into the distance, and bells rang, and people screamed. Lenore whirled around, and people were running towards them, coming up the stairs and running away. Smoke appeared over the water, and Daenerys’ fleet was burning. Lenore’s jaw dropped, and without thinking she tucked her swords into their sheaths, staring at the burning ships.  
Soon, Tyrion and Varys came towards them from the other direction. They had heard the screaming too and came this way.  
“Well, we won’t be sailing to Westeros anytime soon,” Tyrion said as he watched. Lenore was dejected, absolutely gut-wrenched. It was the goal they shared, and this was a major setback. They needed Daenerys back, as soon as possible.  
“We need a crisis meeting,” Lenore said to Tyrion. “With Missandei and Grey Worm.” Tyrion nodded, and they went to find them.  
“Varys and I saw text on one of the walls. Beneath the ‘Kill the Masters’ text, someone has now written ‘Mhysa is a Master’,” he informed Lenore on the way. She sighed and rolled her eyes.  
“This is a problem,” she muttered.  
Tyrion, Varys, Lenore, Missandei and Grey Worm sat in a chamber together that night. Tyrion poured wine for himself, as per usual. Varys gave him a disapproving look.  
“If I lost my cock, I’d drink all the time,” Tyrion sassed. He then looked at Grey Worm, realising that he too was a eunuch. “Meaning no offence,” he added. “He makes dwarf jokes, I make eunuch jokes.” Lenore rolled her eyes and Tyrion walked forward.  
“I do  _ not  _ make dwarf jokes,” Varys defended himself.  
“You think them.” Varys didn’t answer this, he turned to Grey Worm.  
“So… the fleet. It’s been burned.”   
“We are searching for the men who burned the ships, but nobody saw anything,” Grey Worm said.  
“Surely there’s some good news lurking somewhere?” Tyrion asked, almost hopeful.  
“Astapor and Yunkai have stopped asking us for aid,” Varys said.   
“Perhaps they can tell us their secret,” Tyrion said and took a sip of wine. Lenore huffed.  
“That’s  _ not  _ good news, it means something is wrong,” she stated, looking at Varys.  
“The Masters have retaken both cities,” he admitted. “Outside of Meereen, the whole of Slaver’s Bay has returned to the slavers.” Missandei and Grey Worm exchanged a look. They had both been slaves, they knew what slavery meant, what it was like.  
“What about the dragons?” Tyrion asked. “We have the two of them beneath-”   
“Beneath the pyramid,” Lenore interrupted him. “Daenerys calls herself their mother yet she locked them up like dogs.” Her voice was cool as ice. She respected her sister, but this was a decision she could not support.  
“They are not eating. They haven’t touched any food since queen Daenerys left,” Missandei said.  
“Daenerys is the dragon queen,” Tyrion pondered. “We can’t very well let the dragons starve, that’s obvious.”  
“If a dragon does not want to eat, how do you force him to eat?” Grey Worm asked.  
“Dragons do not do well in captivity,” Tyrion and Lenore said at the same time, Lenore angrier than Tyrion.   
“How do you know this?” Missandei asked carefully.  
“That’s what I do. I drink, and I know things,” Tyrion mused, raising his glass and drinking more wine before going for a refill. “The dragons Aegon used to conquer Westeros ranged over hundreds of miles. Then Daenerys’ ancestors started chaining them up in penns. A few generations later… the last dragons were no larger than cats. They must be unchained, or they waste away,” he finished. Lenore nodded slowly. She knew the same story, knew the same truth, and she had been begging Daenerys to release them for weeks. “Missandei… how many times were you in the company of these dragons?” Tyrion continued.  
“Many times,” Missandei said.  
“And did they ever harm you?” he asked. She shook her head.  
“Never.”  
“Dragons are intelligent,” Lenore said.  
“More intelligent than men according to some maesters. They have affection for their friends, and fury for their enemies,” Tyrion agreed. “I am their friend.”  
“Do they know that?” Varys asked, skeptical.  
“They will,” Tyrion insisted. “It’s time they had their supper.” Tyrion chugged the last of his wine.  
Lenore had insisted on coming with Tyrion as he headed down to the cave where Daenerys had chained up Rhaegal and Viserion. Varys had followed too, but wouldn’t come down the stairs with them. Lenore didn’t blame him. She and Tyrion walked slowly down the stairs, and they heard the rattling of chains. They kept walking forward, each holding a torch. The silence was deceiving. Finally, something stirred in the darkness. A low rumbling filled the cave, and they could make out two heads. Lenore didn’t feel scared, but Tyrion looked quite terrified. One of the dragons reared its head, coming forward with a growl, and fire in his throat. Tyrion flinched and backed off, bowing. Lenore stood her ground, watching as the dragons came forward. One of them, Rhaegal, leaned forward and smelled her, and the other, Viserion, growled at Tyrion, who extended a hand.  
“I’m friends with your mother,” he spoke softly. “We’re here to help. Don’t eat the help…” he said and chuckled nervously, earning another growl from the yellow dragon, Viserion. But since he hadn’t yet started spitting fire, Tyrion’s confidence grew. “When I was a child, an uncle asked what gift I wanted for my name day…” he started talking, while carefully walking forward, under the constant eye of Viserion. Lenore slowly brought her hand to Rhaegal’s neck and when he didn’t protest, she stroked it. Tyrion continued speaking. “I begged him for one of you. ‘It wouldn’t even have to be a big dragon’ I told him. It could be little, like me.” He set down his torch, and Lenore did the same. “Everyone laughed, like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.” Viserion bared his neck, quietly begging Tyrion to take the large collar off of him. “Then my father told me, the last dragon had died a century ago. I cried myself to sleep that night.” Tyrion finally dared to touch the dragon’s neck. “But here you are.” After holding his hand still for a few moments, he grabbed the clasp of the lock holding Viserion’s chains in place, took it out, and the iron collar dropped to the floor.  
Rhaegal now grew even more impatient, stomping his feet and baring his neck. Lenore chuckled softly.  
“Shhh…” she cooed, sliding her hand up to his collar and dragging his clasp out as well, freeing him from his restraints. Then, both of them returned into the darkness, soft rumbling noises coming from them. Tyrion and Lenore picked up the torches again and walked up the stairs to Varys, Tyrion with great haste.  
“Next time I have an idea like that, punch me in the face,” he said. Lenore let out a giggle, and Varys nodded, then they all left together, leaving the exit to the cave open.


	34. We make peace with our enemies

Lenore was sitting with her head buried in her arms, resting against the table. She was at another meeting with Tyrion, Missandei and Grey Worm. They were waiting for Varys to return with news of the Sons of the Harpy. The wait was awkward as all hells. Tyrion smiled sheepishly, and Missandei smiled back politely. Grey Worm looked stern.  
“What should we do while we wait?” Tyrion asked. “To pass the time, what should we do? What should we talk about?” Missandei and Grey Worm shared a look. Awkward. “You speak nineteen languages, you must occasionally use some of them to talk about things,” Tyrion said to Missandei and emptied his wine glass. “You two, you spend a great deal of time together, what would you be talking about if Lenore and I weren’t here?” Lenore stirred slightly at the sound of her name.  
“Patrol,” Grey Worm said. Lenore looked up at him. “When I am going on patrol with the Unsullied. What we see on patrol. Who we capture on patrol.” Lenore made an excruciating face and got up to pour herself a glass of wine. This was unbearable.  
“That’s good, that’s… very good,” Tyrion said awkwardly, joining Lenore in pouring himself more wine. “But, that’s a report. I was thinking more of a conversation.” Lenore drank. “A wise man once said, the true history of the world is a history of great conversations, in elegant rooms.”  
“Who said this?” Missandei asked. Lenore knew the answer, and she rolled her eyes as she leaned against the stone pillar.  
“Me, just now,” Tyrion replied.  
“Passing off your own quotes as ancient wisdom has always been your least charming trait,” Lenore scolded him. The look Missandei gave Tyrion said she agreed with Lenore. Tyrion felt a bit ashamed and refilled his wine glass.  
“Alright, no conversations!” he concluded as he returned to the table. “Let’s play a game!” Again, Missandei and Grey Worm exchanged a look. “You don’t play games, either one of you, ever?” Tyrion exclaimed indignantly.  
“Games are for children,” Grey Worm said solemnly.   
“My Master, Kraznyz, would sometimes make us play games,” Missandei told Tyrion.  
“There! That’s a start!” he exclaimed, happy to finally breach the barrier of a conversation.  
“Only the girls,” Missandei continued, and Lenore almost choked on her wine, holding in her laughter. Tyrion quickly set down his glass.  
“Oh, no. No, no… not that, of course not that!” he exclaimed, embarrassed about the misunderstanding. “Innocent games, fun games. Drinking games.”  
“We do not drink,” Missandei explained. Tyrion leaned forward.  
“Until you do,” he said with a grin. When he didn’t receive any response, he continued. “Alright, no drinking. We can play without drinking.”  
“You can’t play without drinking,” Lenore warned him, knowing with certainty what game this was. She had played it many times. Tyrion shot her a look.  
“It’s a wonderful game, I invented it. Here’s how it works. I make a statement about your past, if I’m wrong, I drink. And if I’m right-” he stopped. “Maybe we can’t play without drinking…” Lenore gave him her I-told-you-so look.  
Finally, the door opened. Sandor, who was guarding it, let Varys in.  
“Oh! You took your time,” Tyrion said as Varys came up the stairs. Missandei and grey Worm stood up.  
“Sorry,” Varys apologised, not meaning it. “I was busy, learning who funds the Sons of the Harpy, some things you can’t rush.”  
“You found out?” Missandei asked, surprised at Varys’ information. Lenore wasn’t surprised, Varys always learned everything he wanted to learn, no matter how good the secret was kept.  
“The Good Masters of Astapor, and the Wise Masters of Yunkai, with help from their friends in Volantis,” Varys told them.  
“You see? We don’t even have to worry about the local rebellion…” Tyrion began, bringing his wine glass with him as he stood up. “We only have to worry about the three rich cities paying for it.”  
“We conquered Astapor and Yunkai once before, we will do it again and execute the Masters,” Grey Worm said harshly. Lenore was about to object, but Tyrion was quicker.  
“If the Unsullied march off to reconquer Astapor and Yunkai, who will remain to defend the free people of Meereen?” he asked.  
“If we do not fight them, how can we stop them?” Grey Worm retorted.  
“We cannot,” Missandei said. This was the first time Lenore had heard her speak in a harsh tone. She looked angry. “The Masters speak only one language. They spoke it to me for many years, I know it better than my mother tongue. If we want them to hear us we must speak it back to them. May it be the last thing they ever hear,” she almost snarled. Tyrion nodded.   
“You may be right,” he said.  
“So we will fight them,” Grey Worm assessed.  
“Possibly,” Tyrion pondered.   
“Possibly?” Missandei asked indignantly.  
“Daenerys burned one the slavers with Drogon already, and he was only a baby. I’ll take either Rhaegal or Viserion, fly to Astapor and Yunkai and kill the Masters,” Lenore said, straightening up. Tyrion looked at her.  
“Why does every plan you have as of late involve getting on a dragon and killing everyone? I thought you were more of a politician than that,” he questioned, and Lenore looked annoyed.   
“Why don’t  _ any  _ of your plans as of late involve killing enemies?” she shot back.  
“It’s a conversation,” Tyrion insisted and and turned to Varys. “Tell me, can your little birds get a message to the Good Masters of Astapor, the Wise Masters of Yunkai, and the benevolent enslavers of Volantis?” he asked.  
“Of course. Men can be fickle, but birds I always trust,” Varys said.  
After hearing the rest of this conversation, Lenore was rushing out of the room. Sandor walked after her when he noticed her.  
“He’s an idiot, there’s no other explanation!” Lenore complained as they walked. “He invited the Masters here for a bloody conversation!”  
“Say what you will about the dwarf, I’m no friend of his, but he’s never been an idiot. Give him a chance,” Sandor suggested. Lenore huffed. Sandor picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, making her shriek in surprise.  
“What are you-”   
“You need to ease up,” he muttered and walked them into their chamber. He dumped Lenore on the bed and yanked her mint green dress up her legs. She was about to protest but when she felt Sandor’s lips and rough beard on her thighs, she forgot all about it. He kissed and nipped at her soft skin, while his hands massaged her calves, working their way up to her thighs. He soon heard soft moans come from Lenore’s lips, and he chuckled.  
“My little lady hasn’t been taken good in a few days,” he hummed against her thigh before giving it a slap, making her squeal. He pressed down on her abdomen slightly before he delved in between her legs, eagerly licking Lenore’s cunt. She moaned louder now, and he kept going, licking and sucking while pressing his nose into her clit. He always did this with such passion, and it had Lenore squirming and panting quickly. Before she could cum, though, he pulled away, undoing his breeches. Lenore bit her lip and grinned as she watched him.  
“Shirt too,” she breathed when he took the breeches off. He ripped off his tunic and climbed on top of Lenore, kissing her hard on the lips, yanking her head back by her hair. She raked her nails across his back and wrapped her legs around his hips, and he finally guided his big hard cock into her. She moaned in bliss as he filled her up completely. It was true, the sex hadn’t been as good as usual lately, they were both under a lot of stress. But now, now he felt perfect inside her, and they both loved every moment. Sandor pushed Lenore’s dress up higher, fucking her into the featherbed.  
“Need- harder,” she whined, digging her nails into his back. He growled and bit her neck, but obliged, snaking his hand around her waist as he pounded into her, his hips slamming against hers. Her mouth fell open and she closed her eyes in pleasure. Sandor loved this view, and it was all he could do not to spill himself inside her already. He brought his other hand down to her clit, rubbing it up and down, causing Lenore to moan and whine and squeal. She clung onto him and buried her face in his shoulder, biting her lip as she came, her body shaking. Sandor groaned loudly, feeling how his little lady’s cunt clenched around him, draining him of cum.  
Lenore collapsed, her head dropping back down against the mattress, and Sandor rested his head on her chest, both of them breathing heavily. Lenore softly stroked Sandor’s back as they both calmed down.  
“Thank you…” she whispered. “I needed that.”  
“Mmm…” she received in response.  
For the next few days, Lenore wasn’t as tense. She didn’t snap at Tyrion quite so often, and she was more open to ideas. But when the slavers’ ship sailed into Meereen, she once more grew uneasy. She trusted Tyrion, but she didn’t trust this idea. She tugged anxiously at the skirt of her red dress, fidgeting with the iron dragon clasps holding it together.  
“You invite the enemy into our city,” Grey Worm said, displeased.  
“I did!” Tyrion replied. “As a clever man once told me: we make peace with out enemies, not our friends.” He turned around and faced Varys, Lenore, Missandei and Grey Worm. They were all skeptical of this idea, this alliance.  
“I don’t make peace with the queen’s enemies, I kill the queen’s enemies,” Grey Worm chided, as they started walking.  
“Yes, that’s the military approach! And how has that worked here in Meereen?” Tyrion asked, leading the way back to the pyramid where they were to receive the Masters. “I represent the diplomatic approach!” he continued.  
“Our queen tried to make peace with the Masters, and they tried to murder her,” Missandei said.  
“We enter these negotiations with open eyes,” Tyrion ensured. “Trust me, my own recent experience with slavery has taught me the horrors of that institution.”   
“How many  _ days _ were you a slave?” Missandei asked.  
“W- long enough to know,” Tyrion insisted.  
“Not long enough to understand,” said Missandei. Tyrion couldn’t counter that, so he just kept walking. Soon, they had reached the pyramid, and they entered the room where the three Slavers sat waiting. Tyrion, Missandei, Lenore and Varys sat down, and Grey Worm stood with his hands behind his back. One of the Slavers stood up and started walking around the room. He looked at Tyrion briefly.  
“I bought this dwarf for a single gold honour. Somehow, you’ve risen to the top of the great pyramid of Meereen,” he said.   
“That’s most impressive…” another drawled.  
“And now  _ you  _ speak for the Good Masters of Astapor,” Tyrion countered, with a glass of wine in his hand. He raised it. “Here’s to reversals of fortune,” he said and took a sip. The Yunkish Master in his white and blue robes spoke.  
“We came here to meet the queen. Instead we’re greeted by her sister, a dwarf, and a eunuch.” Lenore raised an eyebrow at the man, and Varys looked uneasy.  
“Let’s make this simple, shall we? Tell me what you want,” Tyrion said.  
“We want you to leave Slaver’s Bay. Take your dragons, and your mercenaries, and go,” the third Slaver said, the one from Volantis.  
“Queen Daenerys won’t stay in Meereen forever. Her path takes her Westward,” Tyrion explained. The Yunkish Slaver spoke again.  
“When we last met, I offered her ships, so she could return to Westeros where she belongs. She refused them,” he said.  
“She refused them because hundreds and thousands of men, women and children still lived in chains,” Missandei almost snarled. Lenore liked this ferocious side of her.  
“As they have since the dawn of time!” the Yunkish man insisted.  
“Not anymore,” Grey Worm informed them.  
“Oh you think you’re a free man now?” The one from Astapor interrupted. “You still follow orders. Just because your Master has silver hair and tits does not mean she’s not a Master.”   
“Guard your tongue!” Lenore snarled.  
“Friends, friends, friends…” Tyrion the diplomat intervened. “Please. There have always been those with wealth and power, and those with nothing. That is the way of the world, I’m not here to change the way of the world-”   
“Slavery is the way of  _ our  _ world,” the man from Astapor insisted. It took all of Lenore’s power to avoid lashing out at him. She settled for a glare.   
“You don’t need slaves to make money!” Tyrion went on. “There haven’t been slaves in Westeros for hundreds of years, and I grew up richer than any of you,” he said, earning some strange looks from the Masters. “But… our queen recognises that she dared by abolishing slavery without providing a new system to replace it. So! Here is the queen’s proposal. Slavery will never return to Meereen. But she will give the other cities of Slaver’s Bay… time to adjust to the new order.”   
“What does that mean?” the slaver from Astapor asked. Lenore swallowed. She knew where this was going and she hated it.  
“Instead of abolishing slavery overnight, we will give you seven years to end the practice,” Tyrion said. Lenore’s eyes widened for a second. That was way longer than she had expected him to say! She thought he might give them a year or two, but seven? She restrained herself from speaking and ruining this plan, by pouring herself a glass of wine. “Slave holders will be compensated for their losses, of course, at fair prices. In exchange, you will cut off your support from the Sons of the Harpy,” Tyrion said.  
“We do not support the Sons of the Harpy,” the Astapori slaver lied.  
“Fine, fine, but you will cut it off all the same,” Tyrion insisted. “I do hope you accept, my friends. You will not receive a better offer,” he said and leaned up, ringing a small bell. “Let us sail on the tide of freedom, instead of being drowned by it.” Three girls - whores - walked into the room. “As a parting gift, to our honoured guests.” All three slavers seemed happy with the girls, and Tyrion got up and started walking out. “Give freedom a chance! See if it doesn’t taste every bit as good as what came before,” he said and left. Lenore and Varys followed close, and the clearly upset Missandei and Grey Worm after them.


	35. All I've ever wanted

On their way back from the meeting with the slavers, they had passed through the throne room where a group of men were standing. They were former slaves, and they weren’t happy with the peace brokering meeting that had just occurred. Tyrion had tried explaining his thinking to them, but they didn’t trust him. In the end, despite being clearly uncomfortable with it, Missandei and Grey Worm had stepped in and convinced the men that this was the only chance of peace, Missandei repeating to them that we make peace with our enemies, not our friends. But they weren’t happy.  
“Do not use me for your lies,” Grey Worm chided when they were outside.  
“Those men respect you,” Tyrion said.  
“They respect me because they know who I am. They know I am loyal.”   
“As do I.”   
“I am loyal to my queen, not you. If you betray her work, you are my enemy.”  
“I am not betraying her work, I am trying to save her city!” Tyrion insisted, stopping briefly.  
“You promised the slavers they could keep slavery,” Missandei argued.  
“For a short time!”   
“Seven years is not a short time for a slave!” she insisted. Tyrion looked at Lenore for support, but she agreed with Missandei.  
“Don’t look at me, I wanted to give them  _ one  _ year,” she said and looked out to the sea. Tyrion sighed.  
“You’re right. Slavery is a horror that should be ended at once. War is a horror that should be ended at once. I can’t do both today,” he said.  
“You are wrong to trust these men!” Grey Worm said harshly.  
“I don’t trust the Masters, I trust their self interest! They’re trustworthy if they’re convinced that working with me is in their self interest.” Grey Worm didn’t seem to believe Tyrion. He shook his head and looked slightly distraught.   
“You don’t know them. You don’t understand them. We are not human in their eyes! They look at me, they see a weapon. They look at her,” he pointed to Missandei, “and see a whore.”  
“They look at Lenore, they see an angry foreign bitch, they look at me, they see a misshapen little beast.” Tyrion said. “Their contempt is their weakness! They’ll underestimate us every time, and we will use that to our advantage.” Grey Worm turned around again and this time he looked angry.  
“You will not use them! They will use you. That is what they do,” he said, before he and Missandei left together, leaving Tyrion and Lenore outside. Lenore sighed when Tyrion looked at her again.  
“I hope your plan works, but I don’t believe it will,” she said honestly. “The only thing that will stop them is killing them.” Now, Tyrion sighed.  
“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps not.” Lenore smiled slightly, patted Tyrion’s arm, then walked in the opposite direction. For the next few days, Meereen felt more peaceful. The Sons of the Harpy had made no more kills, and the city was calm. Every night Lenore would go into the cave where Rhaegal and Viserion were. They were free, but still they refused to leave the cave. Lenore would sit with them for a while each night, singing to them, talking to them, or petting them. They were growing more trusting of her for every night she was there. This night, she sung them her favourite song, a song of a fair maid and a gentle giant who lived in a keep. The dragons seemed to like it too, for they were curling up next to her making those purring noises again.  
The next day, Lenore was strolling through the city, wondering where Jorah and Daario were now, if they had found Daenerys yet. She desperately wanted to know how her sister was doing. She knew the dragons would let her ride them if she tried, but she had promised both Sandor and Tyrion she wouldn’t. She sighed to herself as she walked down to the docks, where she saw Sandor sitting on the jetty, looking out at something. He smiled faintly when she came to sit next to him, then he looked back to whatever he had been focused on before. Lenore feld a smidge of peace and calm, until she traced Sandor’s eyes and saw what he was watching so intently.  
A young woman on another jetty, playing with her small child. A lump formed in Lenore’s stomach and she looked back at Sandor. His gaze was longing, she realised. She had never felt more inadequate than she did in that moment, and she quickly got up before Sandor saw the tears in her eyes. She started walking away, but Sandor grunted and got up, following her.  
“Where are you going?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he caught up with her, grabbed her arm and spun her back around to face him. She was crying.  
“I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want!” she sobbed. Sandor made a face.  
“The fuck you talking about?” he asked.  
“I saw how you looked at them, I’m sorry I can’t give you children!” Lenore was hysterical, she hadn’t realised how strongly she felt about this. Sandor rolled his eyes and shook Lenore by her arms.  
“You silly woman! Don’t you know by now that you’re all I want?” he almost barked. Lenore sobbed as she looked up at him. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, since the first time you came to my chamber! Seven Hells, you were all I thought about every day after that. And you still are today! Would I like children? Sure! But if  _ you _ can’t give them to me then I don’t want any damn children,” he spat, and Lenore couldn’t help even more tears falling from her eyes. She threw her arms around Sandor and sobbed into his chest as he held her, resting his chin on top of her head. He wiped her tears when she pulled back. “When we got married you were convinced you were too good for me. What happened?” he asked.  
“I grew to love you,” she said quietly.  
“Pups or no pups, you’ll always be too good for me. Don’t forget that,” he demanded, and Lenore nodded. “My silly wife,” he said and leaned down to kiss her. “I thought you didn’t even want children?” he then asked.  
“I was fifteen when I said that, now I’m almost twenty. Things change.”  
A week later, the small council, as Lenore had jokingly begun to call them, were having another meeting. Tyrion poured wine. Varys asked for a report from Grey Worm.  
“In the last fortnight, since our pact with the Masters, how many killings have been carried out by the Sons of the Harpy?” he asked.  
“None,” Grey Worm responded.   
“And how many Masters have been butchered by the free men?”  
“Two. But that was the day of the pact. Since then, nothing.” Lenore was impressed, but skeptical.  
“So, it’s safe to say a fragile peace has taken hold,” Varys concluded, looking at Tyrion who was approaching them.  
“For now,” Grey Worm said.   
“For now is the best we get in our profession.”  
“It’s not enough,” Lenore interjected. Varys looked at her.  
“Considering the city was on the brink of civil war, I’d say it’s a good start,” he said.  
“It’s not enough for Meereen to have peace,” Tyrion agreed with Lenore. “They need to know Daenerys is responsible for it.” Varys didn’t look understanding, so Tyrion continued. “The Sons of the harpy have a good story; resist the foreign invaders. Our queen has an even better story. Mother of dragons, breaker of chains, and… all that.” He struggled to keep track of all of Daenerys’ titles. Lenore couldn’t blame him.  
“The people know who brought them freedom,” Missandei said.  
“Yees, but do they know who brought them security? Who brought about an end to the violence? We need someone the people trust. Someone they know cannot be bought or influenced,” Tyrion explained.   
“Sounds like quite the hero. Where will we find him?” Varys asked.   
“Who said anything about  _ him? _ ” Tyrion smirked and took a sip of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh guys I love the scene between Sandor and Lenore...


	36. Siege

Lenore hadn’t gone with Tyrion and Varys to find the hero, but Varys told her afterwards who it was. A red priestess named Kinvara. She had been more than willing to help, and Tyrion more than willing to accept. Varys had been skeptical. He didn’t like religious fanatics, and that’s all he thought the red priests and priestesses were.  
“You know Stannis had one of these fanatics with him,” Varys complained to Lenore as they strolled through the streets.  
“I know. Melisandre. Didn’t work out too well for him, did it?” Lenore asked, raising an eyebrow. Varys shook her head and Lenore smiled. “I can’t believe he even survived the battle of Blackwater,” she added.  
“He was persistent. He and his remaining troops retreated when Tywin and the Tyrells came. Only to later be killed by the Boltons.”  
“Wait… what?” Lenore asked, stopping and putting her hand on Varys’ arm.  
“You didn’t know,” he assessed.  
“Stannis is dead?” Lenore was shocked, but glad.  
“He was defeated while marching at Winterfell, which the Boltons control now. That you knew, right?”  
“No! Last time I saw Roose Bolton was at the Twins, I- I had no idea-”  
“And Sansa Stark is married to Roose Bolton’s bastard son, Ramsey,” Varys said apologetically. Lenore’s mouth fell open.   
“No. You’re lying,” she said breathily, truly hoping he was. But he shook his head. Lenore looked disgusted. “When we sail to Westeros, I’m going to Winterfell to save her, and murder every last Bolton there is,” she snarled. Varys smiled half-heartedly.  
“We have no ships, we might be stuck here for quite some time,” he said. Lenore pursed her lips.  
“We’ll find a way,” she said confidently, curtsied at Varys and went to find Sandor for their daily sword fighting practice. She was getting really good by now, wielding two swords with skill. While Sandor had always had an easy time beating her, he was finding it more difficult when she had two swords. He frequently cursed and growled as he found it increasingly hard to attack her. She had learned a thing or two from Grey Worm as well. Twice she had joined him for training, and as he wielded a spear, Lenore learnt completely different moves.  
“Catch up, old man,” she challenged Sandor when she parried yet another of his hits. He snarled and launched himself forward, using his sword to thrust one of hers out of her hand, then grabbed onto the other one with his hand, pushing her arm backwards as he kicked her in the shin, making her fall to her knees with a grunt.  
“Don’t get cocky, young girl,” he said and kicked her other sword out of her hand. She donned so many bruises after her trainings, that Missandei often worried about her during their lessons.  
“I had a very good friend back in King’s Landing. Her name was Lisha, she was my handmaiden. You remind me a lot of her,” Lenore said to Missandei, who smiled.  
“I take that as a compliment,” she replied.  
“You should. You’re a lovely woman. And so incredibly beautiful, too,” Lenore said and smiled. “No wonder Grey Worm likes you.” Missandei smiled shyly and looked down at her hands.   


A few days later, Varys had told Tyrion and Lenore about a secret quest he was going off to. He was going to find them ships and allies in Westeros, he had said. Lenore gave him a hug before waving at him as he and Tyrion left the Pyramid. Lenore stayed to take the place of the queen in seeing the town’s people. They came to her with complaints and compliments alike, and requests. Some she granted, some she did not. She did what she thought her sister would, and all the meanwhile it was all she could do to worry.  
For the meeting of the small council tonight, Lenore had put on a brand new dress. It was black, strappy, leathery and flowy all at once.

It had prompted the same horny, jealous reaction out of Sandor as the pink dress she once wore had done. After diving in under the dress and doing to her what he was so good at, he insisted on walking her all the way to the meeting chamber. She kissed his cheek and smirked as she curtsied at him, entering the room and leaving him outside to guard it.  Before they all settled, Lenore and Tyrion each poured themselves a glass of wine. It was mandatory for these meetings, they both agreed on that. Tyrion smiled as he drank.  
“You seem happy,” Missandei said.  
“I  _ am  _ happy,” Tyrion responded, setting his glass down on the table and getting up. “You should all be happy as well! Not so long ago, this city was ready to devour itself. Now it’s like a man reborn.” He poured more wine, several glasses.  
“I will be happy when our queen returns,” Missandei countered.  
“Why don’t you drink? Why don’t either of you ever drink?” he asked Missandei and Grey Worm.  
“Unsullied never drink,” Grey Worm said.  
“Why not?” Lenore chimed in.  
“Rules.”  
“And who made these rules?” Tyrion asked. “Your former Masters?” Grey Worm looked pondering. “Those miserable old shits didn’t want you to be human!” he exclaimed and carried two wine glasses, handing them to Missandei and Grey Worm. “Have a drink with me!” They both looked skeptical, and Grey Worm smelled the wine. “And you? What’s your excuse?” he asked as he gave Missandei the glass.  
“I have tried wine before, it made me feel… funny,” she said. Lenore couldn’t help a chuckle.  
“That’s how you know it’s working,” Tyrion whispered and grinned. He grabbed his own glass and raised it in a toast. “Here’s to our queen! He exclaimed, and Lenore raised her glass. Missandei and Grey Worm hesitated. “Anyone not drinking is disrespecting our queen!” Tyrion prompted, and they both raised their glasses. “To Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of dragons, breaker of chains. Long may she reign,” Tyrion said.  
“Long may she reign,” the other three joined in. Lenore and Tyrion drank happily. Missandei and Grey Worm took very small sips.  
“Do you like it?” Tyrion asked.  
“Tastes like it has turned,” Grey Worm said, and Tyrion went to refill his glass.  
“Yes, yes, fermentation! One day, after our queen has taken the Seven Kingdoms, I’d like to have my own Vineyard. Make my own wine. The Imp’s Delight! Only my close friends could drink it,” he told them. Lenore smiled. Tyrion was quiet for a while, just sipping his wine, then he spoke again. “Tell me a joke, Missandei of Naath!”  
“I do not know any jokes,” she said with an embarrassed chuckle.  
“Grey Worm!” Tyrion continued. The soldier only looked at him sternly. “Right…”  
“A young woman, somewhat of a simpleton, was on the point of delivering a baby,” Lenore started. “ She had long been enduring acute pain, and the midwife, candle in hand, inspected her secret area, in order to ascertain if the child was coming. The young woman said: Look also on the other side, my husband has sometimes taken that road,” Lenore said, making Tyrion laugh out loud, while Missandei and Grey Worm only offered uncertain smiles.  
“Three lords walk into a tavern,” Tyrion began, “A Stark, a Martell, and a Lannister. They order ale. But when the barkeep brings them over, each of them finds a fly in their cup! The Lannister, outraged, shoves the cup aside and demands another. The Martell plucks the fly out and swallows it whole!” Tyrion mimicked swallowing a fly. “The Stark reaches into his cup, pulls out the fly and shouts: spit it out, you wee shit, spit it out!” He did his best Northern accent, and it was terrible, but Lenore laughed. Grey Worm and Missandei did not, and Tyrion looked uncomfortable. “It’s funnier in Westeros…”  
“The Starks and the Lannisters, I thought these were enemies,” Grey Worm said.   
“Yes,” Tyrion agreed, shaking his head at how poorly the soldier understood the concept of a joke.  
“A joke is like a story, Torgo Nudho. Not a true story, necessarily,” Missandei explained.  
“A story that’s supposed to make you laugh, ideally. Not at the moment, perhaps…” Tyrion mused. Missandei took another sip of wine, which he noticed. “Missandei, do you like the wine?” he asked. She nodded.  
“I do!”  
“Tell a joke!” Tyrion urged. She gave in, apparently having found some confidence in the wine.  
“Two translators are on a sinking ship. The first says: do you know how to swim? The second says: no but I can shout for help in nineteen languages.” Missandei looked proud of her joke, but Lenore was the only who found it funny, and she laughed. Tyrion faked a laugh to make her feel better.  
“That is the worst joke I ever heard,” Grey Worm said solemnly.  
“You don’t even know what a joke is,” Missandei scolded.  
“I am soldier all my life, you think I never hear joke?” he asked. Tyrion looked at him disapprovingly.  
“You lied to us!” he exclaimed dramatically. Grey Worm scrunched his face up, thinking.  
“I make joke,” he said. Missandei burst out laughing, in a way Lenore had never seen before. The translator was always so polite and proper, now she was truly at ease, and comfortable. Grey Worm smiled genuinely when he looked at her.  
“More jokes!” she urged happily. Tyrion obliged.  
“I once walked into a brothel with a honeycomb and a jackass. The madam says-” he didn’t get to finish this joke, as the bells started ringing. Lenore dropped her smile at once, standing up. Grey Worm was quick out the door, shouting in Valyrian to his fellow soldiers. Sandor came barging up the stairs with his hand on his sword. He followed Tyrion, Lenore and Missandei outside, and what they saw made Lenore’s heart sink in her chest. At least a hundred ships were sailing into the harbour, white sails with winged mermaids in chains on them.  
“The Masters have come for their property,” Missandei said solemnly. As night gathered, the slavers’ ships were close enough to the shore, and they had started firing on Meereen. Parts of the city were ablaze, and chaos had erupted once more. Now, they were firing at the great Pyramid. Tyrion, Sandor, Lenore and Missandei walked back into the meeting roo, where Grey Worm was waiting with a few more soldiers.  
“I was wrong, I admit it!” Tyrion said after taking shit from Missandei and Lenore for the last few hours.  
“That changes nothing!” Missandei snapped.  
“The Unsullied could merge a defense of the beaches, if the slavers-”   
“No more talking from you, your talking gave us this!” Grey Worm cut him off, pointing out the window to the chaos.  
“And I have acknowledged that, and I’m trying-”   
“Trying to tell me what the army should do, you do not know what the army should do.” Grey Worm was firm, and Tyrion bowed his head, giving up.   
“Alright, what should the army do?” he asked. Grey Worm looked out the window.  
“We will not go to the beach. If we go to the beach, the Masters will take the pyramid. The pyramid is the only place in the city we can defend, we stay here.”  
“And then?”  
“We wait for them to come to us, and we fight them.” There was a moment of quiet before a loud thud coming from the roof caught their attention. The Unsullied soldiers got in formation, spears pointed at the door. Missandei grabbed a knife from the table, the only weapon available. Lenore was ready with her hands on both her swords. Grey Worm gave the signal, another Unsullied pushed the door open, and a third walked out to assess the threat. But he sooned back into the room again, and the Unsullied all knelt. What came through the door was not an murderous Master ready to attack them, but Daenerys Targaryen, wearing brown leather clothes and looking fantastic. And angry.  
Outside, they could see Drogon flying away in the distance. Lenore was the only one who smiled as the queen returned. The others were too terrified that she would be angry with them. The Masters continued to attack the city with flaming catapults all through the night, and all Daenerys and the small council could do was wait, and plan. When morning dawned, Lenore, Tyrion and Daenerys were the only ones in the room. Tyrion tried explaining to Daenerys what was happening. But every time he went to speak, a new crash made him flinch.  
“Despite appearances, I think you’ll find that the city is on the rise!” he managed to say, and then flinched again as another of the fire bombs hit. Daenerys approached him. “Perhaps… we should take shelter!” he suggested. Another loud crash.   
“The city’s on the rise?” Daenerys questioned coldly.   
“Meereen is strong! Commerce have returned to the market, the people are behind you.”  _ Crash _ . “Well, not all the people of course. No ruler that ever lived had the support of  _ all  _ the people. But the rebirth of Meereen is the cause of this violence.” Daenerys raised an eyebrow slightly.  _ Crash.  _ Tyron walked forward. “The Masters  _ cannot  _ let Meereen succeed. Because if Meereen succeeds, a city without slavery, a city without Masters,”  _ crash,  _ “it proves that no one needs a Master.”  _ Crash.  
_ “Good,” Daenerys said. “Shall we begin?” she asked. Tyrion gave her a confused look.  
“Do we have a plan?” he asked.  
“I will crucify the Masters. I will set their fleets afire. Kill every last one of their soldiers and return their cities to the dirt.  _ That  _ is my plan,” she said. Tyrion looked uncomfortable. “You don’t approve,” Daenerys assessed.  
“You once told me you knew what your father was. Did you know his plans for King’s Landing when the Lannister armies were at his gates? Probably not. Well he told my brother, and Jaime told me. He had caches of wildfire, hidden under the Red Keep. The guild halls, the sept of Baelor. All the major thoroughfares. He would have burned every one of their citizens. The loyal ones  _ and  _ the traitors. Every man, woman and child.  _ That’s _ why Jaime killed him.”   
“This is entirely different!” Daenerys argued.  
“You’re talking about destroying cities. It’s not entirely different. I’d like to suggest an alternate approach.” He turned to Lenore. “You’ve always wanted to ride a dragon, haven’t you?” he asked. She smirked, but a second later, with a loud crash, the windows were smashed in, and with a surprised scream, Lenore jumped from the edge of where she was sitting and down to shelter Daenerys and Tyrion from the glass and dust.  
After explaining the alternate approach, Lenore was sprinting down to the dragon cave, while Daenerys and Tyrion went to the beach with Sandor, Missandei, Grey Worm and a few more Unsullied. The Masters were there with a few soldiers of their own. They were going to discuss terms.  
“Once before I offered you peace. If you had not been so arrogant, you could have returned to your homeland with a fleet of ships. Instead, you will flee Slaver’s Bay on foot, like the beggar queen you are.” It was the Yunkish Master who spoke.  
“We are here to discuss terms, not to trade insults,” Tyrion said.  
“The terms are simple,” the Master from Astapor started, “you and your foreign friends will abandon the great pyramid and the city of Meereen. The Unsullied you stole from Kraznyz mo Nakloz will remain to be sold again to the highest bidder. The translator you stole from Kraznyz mo Nakloz will remain to be sold to the highest bidder.” Grey Worm and Missandei both looked angry. “The dragons beneath the great pyramid will be slaughtered.” When the Master finished speaking, he looked at Daenerys.  
“We obviously didn’t communicate clearly. We are here to discuss  __ your  surrender, not mine,” she said confidently. The Masters chuckled and looked at each other before the Yunkish spoke again.  
“I imagine it’s difficult. Adjusting to the new reality. Your reign is over!” he said harshly.  
“My reign has just begun,” Daenerys said simply. There was a moment of silence, before a screech could be heard from the sky. The masters turned around and looked for the source of the noise. It was heard again, and Drogon appeared from behind the wall, bigger than ever, louder than ever, screeching at the Masters as he flew past them, stopped on the wall and flapped his wings, before he landed right next to Daenerys and allowed her to climb onto him. Now, the Masters looked terrified. With another screech, Drogon marched through the slavers’ soldiers and took flight.

“Come on, we have to go,” Lenore urged. The dragons wouldn’t move. Not until they heard the familiar roar of their brother. Now, from the cave beneath the pyramid, fire erupted. Rhaegal and Viserion burned through the wall and walked out, Rhaegal carrying the smirking Lenore on his back. They looked up and saw Drogon, and immediately followed. The wind blew through Lenore’s hair as she steadied her grip on Rhaegal’s neck. They flew together over the sea, locating the Masters’ ships. The slavers’ soldiers were loading new catapults, but they seized when they saw the three dragons above them. Daenerys and Lenore looked at each other from atop the dragons backs and nodded.  
“Dracarys,” Daenerys said, and Drogon led, breathing fire on the soldiers and the ships. Rhaegal and Viserion followed, and Lenore couldn’t stop smirking as they burned the Masters’ ships. But only the manned ones. Soldiers jumped overboard, ships exploded and the sea looked like it was burning, as the dragons rained fire upon them.

On the beach, Grey Worm spoke to the Masters’ soldiers. He told them in Valyrian, that they had a choice. Fight and die for Masters who would never fight or die for them, or go home to their families. Every single soldier dropped his weapons and ran.   
“Thank you for the armada, our queen does love ships,” Tyrion said, and the Masters turned back to him. “Now, last time we spoke, we made a pact. You violated that pact. You declared war upon us. Though our queen does have a forgiving nature, this… cannot be forgiven.”  
“Our queen insists that one of you must die, as punishment for your crimes,” Missandei spoke.  
“It always seems a bit abstract, doesn’t it? Other people dying,” Tyrion mused. The Yunkish Master and the one from Volantis both shoved the one from Astapor in front of them.  
“Him. He should die. He’s not one of us, he’s an outsider, low-born! He does not speak for us!” the Yunkish explained in panic. Sandor snorted, mentally cursing them for the cowards they were. Grey Worm stepped forward.   
“Please… please,” the Master chosen to die begged and fell to his knees. Grey Worm whipped out his dagger, and swiftly slit the throats of the two other Masters, before tucking the dagger back in his belt and backing off, leaving the man on his knees in shock. Tyrion came forward and put his hand on his shoulder.  
“Tell your people what happened here. Tell them you live by the grace of her majesty. When they come forward with notions of retribution or other ideas of returning the slave cities to their former glory, remind them what happened, when Daenerys Stormborn and her dragons came to Meereen,” he said. Then, they all left, leaving the shocked, now former Master, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lenore finally got to ride a dragon!


	37. Ride me like you rode the dragon

Lenore smiled as she neared the ground, Rhaegal landing with a thud in front of Sandor. She slid off the dragon’s back, stroking his neck. He purred, leaning his head into Lenore before he took off, flapping his dark green wings. Lenore gave Sandor a smug, triumphant, almost challenging look. He shook his head at her but then grinned.  
“Not gonna lie, girl, that made me hard,” he said. Lenore giggled and cupped his face, leaning up to kiss him. He grabbed her roughly by the scruff of her neck as he kissed her back. Someone cleared their throat from behind them, and they broke off the kiss. Daenerys was looking at the couple with a smirk tugging on her lips.  
“Am I interrupting?” she asked and her smirk grew. Lenore chuckled awkwardly.  
“Sort of,” Sandor said before Lenore could say no. She smacked his arm and he gave her a challenging look, raising his eyebrow. A look which made her nethers quiver. But she looked at her sister and queen.  
“Not at all,” she said.  
“Good. Come walk with me,” Daenerys said and extended her arm. Lenore leaned up and whispered in her husband’s ear.  
“I’ll fuck your pants off later.” And with that she skipped away, following her sister, leaving Sandor with a grin on his face.  
“Was it everything you thought it would be? Riding a dragon,” Daenerys asked as they walked.  
“Everything I thought and more. I wanted to take one and come find you as soon as you left. How did you come back? Did Jorah and Daario find you? Where are they now? What did you do to Jorah?” Lenore had so many questions, and Daenerys chuckled.  
“Slow down,” she said with a warm smile. “I was captured by a Dothraki horde. They took me to Vaes Dothrak and wanted me to join the Dosh Khaleen. I had other plans. Ser Jorah and Daario found me there, and helped me as I burned down the temple of Dosh Khaleen and the men calling themselves khals there. And now I have a new Khalasar. Daario led them here and they took care of the remaining Sons of the Harpy,” Daenerys explained. Lenore’s eyes were wide the whole time.  
“You’re the most amazing woman I know, I hope you’re aware of that,” she said. “But… what about ser Jorah? He saved your life at least twice.”  
“I sent ser Jorah away.” Lenore frowned.  
“Why-”   
“He has Greyscale. I sent him to find a cure, and then return to me. I’ve forgiven him for the betrayal,” Daenerys said, calming her sister at once.  
“There’s a cure for Greyscale?” she asked after a while.  
“I don’t know. There must be.”  
“There must be,” Lenore repeated. The two sisters walked together and discussed all the events that had taken place while Daenerys was gone. She explained her whole journey, and Lenore explained all the things they had tried to do here to keep the peace and keep the city safe.  
“So when will we sail to Westeros?” Lenore asked. “Now that we have a fleet again.”  
“I don’t know. There aren’t enough ships to carry all the Unsullied  _ and  _ Dothraki across the sea,” Daenerys explained, holding Lenore’s arm in hers as they walked.  
“Can’t we build more? We need to sail soon, before it’s too late,” Lenore said, looking at her sister, concerned.   
“Believe me, I want to sail as soon as we can. I plan on naming Tyrion Hand of the Queen, what do you think of that?” Daenerys asked.  
“I think that’s wise. He’s the cleverest man I know, even if all his plans didn’t work out as he planned this time.” Daenerys nodded at her sister’s response.  
“I would also like to name Sandor as a war strategist once we reach Westeros. He has the most knowledge of Western armies and strategies. Do you think he would agree to that? Could you ask him for me?”  
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Lenore asked with a smile. She knew Daenerys was a little afraid of Sandor, but she would never admit it.  
“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Daenerys said, making Lenore chuckle.  
“Don’t be silly, of course he does. I’m sure he’d be honoured to be your war strategist. He’s led the men into battle more than once,” Lenore informed her, and Daenerys nodded. “If I may suggest, Daenerys… Lord Varys arrived in Meereen while you were gone. He served as the Master of Whisperers in King’s Landing, you would be wise to offer him the same position with you. There’s no man better for the job.” Daenerys frowned.  
“Varys served king Robert,” she muttered.  
“As did Ser Barristan, as did Ser Jorah, as did Sandor. None of them do any more. Varys is the one who convinced Tyrion to seek you out.”   
“I haven’t even met him, where is he?” the queen asked skeptically.  
“He’s gone to Westeros again to try to find you allies there. He truly believes you’re the best fit for the Realm. He’s always been my friend and always sympathetic to the Targaryen cause,” Lenore said decisively. Daenerys nodded.  
“If you say so.” The two sisters reached the pyramid again. “I believe you have an eager husband to get back to,” Daenerys suggested with a smirk and a telling look at Lenore, who giggled. Then she took Daenerys’ hands in hers.  
“Speaking of… is it true you’re fucking Daario Naharis?” Lenore asked. Daenerys looked away but smiled.  
“That might be true,” she said.  
“Are you taking him with you when we sail to Westeros?” Lenore continued, now more serious.  
“You don’t approve of him.”   
“I think he would be trouble there. I would strongly advise against bringing him. It would be smarter to station him here, keeping control of Meereen,” she said.  
“We’ll see,” Daenerys half agreed, and squeezed Lenore’s hand gently before taking her leave. Lenore trotted back up to her chamber, pinching her cheeks and running her hands through her hair before she slid the door open.  
Sandor sat polishing his sword and drinking a cup of wine when she entered. He set his sword aside when he saw her.  
“There’s my dragon rider,” he said with a twisted grin. Lenore curtsied and smiled coquettishly. She approached him and straddled his lap where he sat on the canape. She took his wine cup from his hand and took a sip before she set it down on the table. Sandor’s hands were on her fast, squeezing her thighs, trailing up to her waist. His rough, warm fingers felt amazing on her skin, and she could already feel her body start to ache for him.  
“You liked watching me?” Lenore whispered as she leaned down to kiss Sandor’s neck. He dug his fingers into her skin at the feeling.  
“I didn’t like the fire spitting part, but I liked seeing you on that beast, aye. You gonna ride me like you rode the dragon?” he asked, a foul grin on his face.  
“I was planning on it,” Lenore murmured, grinding herself down against his clothed, hard cock. She kissed him roughly and wrapped her hands in his hair, and his hands landed on her hips, pressing her down against him. She moaned into the kiss and Sandor seized the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. Even though Lenore was on top, Sandor was still the one in charge, with his rough grips on her body and his hard wet kisses. Suddenly, both his hands came up to her bodice, and he ripped the fabric in two with a primal growl.  
Lenore gasped, and before she could scold Sandor for ripping her her pretty dress, his lips were on hers again and he walked them both up. Lenore ripped open his leather jerkin and pulled his tunic off before shimmying out of her ruined dress. Sandor kicked off his boots and Lenore dropped to her knees, unlacing his breeches and tearing them off. Her mouth watered at the sight of his thick, veiny cock, and she was quick to take it in her mouth, sucking him off while moaning around him. He wrapped his hands tight in her hair, controlling her every movement, until she pulled back and ripped free. She backed Sandor against the bed and shoved him in the chest so he landed on his back on the mattress.  
Sandor adjusted himself while Lenore stepped out of her boots. She looked at her husband and smirked.  
“You’re too damn handsome,” she mumbled and climbed on top of him, kissing him again before she positioned herself over his crotch. With a soft touch, she guided his big cock into her and arched her back. He stretched her out so completely, she couldn’t help but whimper. Sandor loved that sound and groaned in response, placing his hands on her hips as she started grinding against him, slowly at first, then faster and faster.  
Sandor’s fingers digging into her skin and his appreciative noises fuelled Lenore, and she started bouncing on his cock, riding him wildly. He growled and grabbed her hand, bringing it down to her cunt. He folded in three of her fingers, leaving her index and middle finger out, and he rubbed her clit hard using her own hand. The sight of it drove her crazy with lust, and she moaned loudly. With her other hand she steadied herself on Sandor’s broad chest. He used her hand to rub circles on her clit, and he palmed her tits with his other hand.  
“Seven hells, Lenore…” he groaned as she drove herself down on his dick with another loud moan, tightening around him.  
“Mmmh… Sandor…” she whined, trying to squirm away from the pressure on her clit, but he held her still, and he could feel her whole body shake as she came undone for him with a cry. She bit her lip and whimpered, almost collapsing on top of him, but he turned them over, and slammed into her like a mad dog, a dozen more thrusts before he pinned her down against the bed and held her in place as he came inside her with a low growl. Her eyes rolled backwards in pleasure, and he finally pulled out. Lenore was panting, and Sandor pulled her onto his chest as he rolled over to his back. She cuddled up to him and he wrapped his strong arms around her, kissing her forehead.


	38. Ships

“My sister wants you to serve as her war strategist when we reach Westeros,” Lenore murmured, resting on Sandor’s chest, stroking his beard. He looked down at her, a little surprised.  
“Does she now?” he asked, brushing her hair out of her face with his fingers. She nodded. “At the pace we’re going, I’m afraid I’ll be too old for it when we finally get to Westeros,” Sandor said and chuckled. Lenore joined in.  
“We just have to acquire more ships,” she said, thinking about Varys, hoping he was having some success.  
“You happy here?” Sandor asked, breaking her out of her thoughts. She looked at him questioningly. “All your life you’ve wanted to find your sister. You found her. You happy?” he asked again, and she nodded.  
“I am,” she said. “Much more content than I had ever thought I would be. And I’m really glad you’re here with me.” Sandor nodded. He wasn’t a man of many pretty words, but Lenore knew his nod to mean he was happy too, being here with her. Lenore let out a sigh and stretched her body. “But I’ll be happier when we’re back in King’s Landing,” she said. Sandor frowned.  
“Thought you didn’t like King’s Landing.”  
“I love King’s Landing. I just hated the circumstances under which I was there. And I hated the rulers of it. But when my sister rules…”   
“Still think you’d make a better ruler than her.”  
“Sandor!”  
“The greatest rulers are always the ones who don’t want to rule. Robert Baratheon conquered the throne and was a terrible king. Ned Stark would have been better, but he refused the throne. I have a healthy skepticism towards people who seek out power,” he said gruffly, making Lenore sigh and draw her hand back from his beard. The action made him look at her with a dissatisfied face.  
The next few days were peaceful and beautiful. They had passed by as usual, with sword fighting in the morning, and Valyrian lessons next. Lenore was almost fluent in the language now. She and Daenerys also met every day, taking walks through the city, dining together or drinking wine in the evening. They laughed a lot together and had quickly grown very fond of each other.  
“You know, everyone is afraid of him, and yet this tiny little girl marches up in front of him and _demands _that he not kill the farmer.” Lenore told Daenerys the stories about their travels with Arya. “The two of them were always in screaming matches, it was the most entertaining thing,” Lenore said and chuckled, and so did her sister. The next story came from Daenerys, about the time she had eaten a stallion’s heart.  
“The Dothraki follow only the strong. When I was carrying a son, the rite demanded that I consume a whole heart of a stallion.”  
“You succeeded?” Lenore asked.  
“I did. I’ve never been so terrified as when I almost retched the heart back up. But I managed to keep it down, and the Dothraki proclaimed my son, I would have named him Rhaego, the stallion who will mount the world.” There was both pride and sadness in Daenerys’ voice. Lenore put her hand on her sister’s.  
“I’m so sorry about what happened to your son. And your husband. He seems like a good man, underneath all the rage and violence,” Lenore said.  
“I’m sure he would have gotten along quite well with your husband,” Daenerys said with a big smile. “If they had spoken the same language,” she added. Lenore chuckled and nodded. Yes, Sandor would probably get along better with a Dothraki savage king than he did with all the fancy knights in Westeros.  
Lenore and Daenerys parted that night and Lenore found her and Sandor’s chamber empty when she returned. She frowned. He was usually back here by this time of night. But it didn’t take long until she heard angry steps coming down the hallway and their door flew open. Lenore’s face turned to one of surprise. Sandor’s fists were balled up tightly and he looked furious.  
“What’s wrong?” Lenore questioned and rushed up to her husband, putting a calming hand on his arm, which he brushed off.  
“Bunch of cunts,” he snarled and reached for the wine flagon, pouring himself a full cup which he downed almost instantly.  
“Who? What happened,” Lenore asked, not giving up. She knew Sandor by now, and she could always reach his troubles if she only dug far enough. But his barriers were strong and hard to break through. “Talk to me,” she said, reaching for his hand instead. She held it tightly and didn’t let him rip free, and he finally looked up at her.  
“I’ve spent too much time with you,” he growled, and Lenore raised her eyebrows.  
“Beg your pardon?” she asked calmly, despite the pit of anxiety inside her.  
“I forget what I am when I’m with you. You’re too soft. And… sweet,” he snarled, downing another cup of wine.  
“What in the Seven Hells are you on about?”  
“Look at me, Lenore!” he bellowed, throwing his cup away and drawing his face close to Lenore’s. She met his eyes with a gentle, loving gaze. That seemed to anger him, because a low snarl came from his throat. “You don’t look at me like they do,” he said, more quietly. Now her gaze turned sad. She understood. Sandor turned away from her and rubbed his face. “Every now and then I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. I see what I really am. Big ugly beast.” He turned back to her, and the look on his face made Lenore want to die. “It’s not mirrored in your eyes. But it’s mirrored in theirs.”  
“Sandor…” Lenore started softly. He shook his head and something that almost sounded like a sob came from him.  
“All of them out there, they look at me the same. I got used to it in King’s Landing. Then I left with you, and I forgot. Forgot what their looks of terror, fright and disgust do to me.”  
“Stop it,” Lenore said firmly, grabbing his hand again and pushing him down in a chair. “It doesn’t matter what they think. None of it matters, they don’t matter,” she continued, hiking up her dress and sitting on his lap. She leaned her forehead against Sandor’s. Her voice was only a whisper when she spoke again. “To me, you’re the most handsome man in the whole world.”  
It was then that Sandor did something Lenore had never before seen. He scrunched his face up painfully tight and let his tears fall. Lenore put her hand on the scarred side of his face and kissed his forehead, just holding him tight while he was silent.  
“There’s not a part of you which I don’t love,” she murmured again when he looked up, his eyes dry again. His hands rested on her waist and at her statement he dug his fingertips into her skin, as he would do when they were fucking, but there was nothing like that now. This was pure, raw agony, and his hands told her more than his words ever could. He would hold onto her with all he had until the end of the world.  
No more words were shared that night. Lenore had unrobed herself first, then carefully taken every layer of clothing off Sandor. She had led him to their bed, where they had made love gentler than ever before, then swiftly drifted off to sleep, bodies still intertwined.  
In the morning, Lenore awoke first. She disentangled herself from her husband, draped herself in her pink robe and walked out onto the balcony. How long she had stood there thinking and looking out across the sea, she didn’t know. But then Sandor came to join her, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. They stood like that for quite some time, before Lenore squinted. She saw ships in the distance. Many of them. She couldn’t make out their sails until they came closer.  
“Why are there Greyjoy ships sailing into the harbour?” she asked when she saw the deep blue kraken sails.  
“I don’t know,” Sandor answered and released her.  
“Come on, we have to find out,” she said, walked back into their room and grabbed a dress. She slid into the deep blue gown, then armoured herself with black leather around her torso, fastening her swords to her belt.  
“How come you look good in everything?” Sandor asked as he grunted his way into his armour. Lenore shrugged and smiled, helping Sandor with the last of the steel. Together they walked down to the throne room, and waited on a bench in the corner. Tyrion and Daenerys soon arrived, Daenerys in a gown the same colour as Lenore’s. She smiled at the coincidence. Then, a woman in boots, pants and leather armour walked in, with a man in the same kraken gear. They were Greyjoys, and age of the young man had Lenore surmising that this was Theon Greyjoy. And the woman must be his sister. It turned out she was right, and his sister’s name was Yara. They walked up half the stairs to the throne and bowed at Daenerys. There was an awkward moment of silence broken by Tyrion.  
“Last time we saw each other was at Winterfell, yes?” he asked Theon. “You were making jokes about my height, I seem to recall.” Theon looked ashamed. “Every person who makes a joke about a dwarf’s height, think he’s the only person ever to make a joke about a dwarf’s height. The height of nobility, someone of your stature, a man to look up to. You’re all making the same five or six jokes.”  
“It was a long time ago,” Theon spoke for the first time.  
“It was,” Tyrion agreed. “And how have things been going for you since then? Not so well, I gather… Can’t imagine you would have murdered the Stark boys if things had been going well.”  
“I didn’t murder the Stark boys,” Theon said. “But I did things that were just as bad. Or worse.”  
“And he paid for them,” the woman, his sister, Yara, said.  
“Doesn’t seem like it. He’s still alive,” Tyrion retorted. _Death isn’t always the best punishment, _Lenore wanted to say, but kept quiet with her hand on Sandor’s knee. Tyrion continued. “It was complicated for you, I’m sure, growing up at Winterfell. Never quite knowing who you were. But then, we all live complicated lives, don’t we?”  
“You’ve brought us a hundred ships from the Iron fleet, with men to sail them?” Daenerys put an end to the bickering with her question. “In return, I expect you want me to support your claim to the Iron Islands?” she asked Theon.  
“Not my claim. Hers,” he said and nodded to Yara. Now that peaked Lenore’s interest, and Daenerys’ too.  
“Oh, what’s wrong with you?” she asked.   
“I’m not fit to rule,” Theon admitted.  
“We can agree upon that, at least,” Tyrion chimed in.  
“Has the Iron Island ever had a queen before?” Daenerys asked, turning her eyes to Yara.  
“No more than Westeros,” the Ironborn woman responded. A faint smile appeared on Daenerys’ face.  
“Our uncle Euron returned home after a long absence. He murdered our father and took the salt throne from Yara. He would’ve murdered us if we had stayed.” Lenore had heard stories about Euron Greyjoy. He was known all over the world for being insane and dangerous, roaming the seas and doing unspeakable things.  
“Lord Tyrion tells me your father was a terrible king,” Daenerys said.  
“You and I have that in common,” Yara challenged. Daenerys hesitated for a second but then agreed.  
“We do. And both murdered by a usurper as well.” She turned to Tyrion. “Will their ships be enough?”  
“With the former masters’ fleet, possibly. Barely.” He squinted and turned to Yara and Theon. “There are more than a hundred ships in the Iron fleet.”  
“There are. And Euron is building more,” Theon said. “He’s going to offer them to you,” he told Daenerys.  
“So why shouldn’t I wait for him?” Daenerys asked. Theon began.  
“The Iron fleet isn’t all he’s bringing… he also wants to give you-”  
“His big cock, I think he said,” Yara cut her little brother off. She was bolder than he was. Daenerys made an unimpressed face. “Euron’s offer is also an offer of marriage, you see you won’t get one without the other.”   
“And I imagine your offer is free of any marriage demands,” Daenerys mused.  
“Well I never demand, but I’m up for anything really,” Yara said with such a tone that Lenore had to squeeze Sandor’s knee to keep herself from laughing, which earned her an amused look from him. Daenerys was smiling by now.  
“He murdered our father, and he would have murdered us. He’ll murder you as soon as you have what he wants,” Theon said.  
“The Seven Kingdoms,” Tyrion assessed.   
“All of them,” Theon confirmed.  
“And you don’t want the Seven Kingdoms,” Daenerys stated for confirmation.  
“Your ancestors defeated ours, and took the Iron Islands. We ask you to give them back.”  
“And that’s all?”  
“We’d like you to help us murder an uncle or two who don’t think a woman’s fit to rule,” Yara said, and Daenerys smirked.  
“Reasonable,” she agreed. Yara smiled back.  
“What if everyone starts demanding their independence?” Tyrion asked, apparently not entirely happy with this brokering.  
“She’s not demanding, she’s asking. The others are free to ask as well,” Daenerys insisted, and Tyrion nodded. There was a moment of silence before Daenerys spoke again. “Our fathers were evil men, all of us here. They left the world worse than they found it. We’re not going to do that. We’re going to leave the world better than we found it.” She stood up, and Lenore was smiling, proud of her sister’s words. Daenerys walked closer to Yara. “You will support my claim as queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and respect the integrity of the Seven Kingdoms. No more rieding, roving, raiding, or raping,” she said firmly.  
“That’s our way of life,” Yara defended.  
“No more,” Daenerys ordered. Yara and Theon looked at each other.  
“No more,” Yara agreed. She extended her arm. Daenerys turned her head to look back at Tyrion, who gave her an encouraging nod, then her eyes fell on Lenore, who smiled. So carefully, Daenerys extended her arm to meet Yara’s, and they brokered a deal.


	39. Sailing to Westeros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter but oh god here they go!

The ships were nearly ready. The sails were being painted, black with red dragons. They were all getting ready to sail across the Narrow Sea to Westeros. Lenore had packed all her gowns, her armour, her weapons and whatnot. She had also had a brand new breastplate made for Sandor. It was dark steel, and on it was a hound and a dragon, each standing on their hind legs roaring. She had given it to Sandor and he had feigned annoyance just as he did when she gave him the dragon wing shoulder pauldrons.  
“Fine, I’ll wear it,” he muttered gruffly and she helped him put it on.  
“So handsome,” she said proudly and leaned up to kiss him. He kissed her back and she felt his hand rummage around in his own pocket. She pulled away and watched him.  
“Just so happens I had something made for you as well,” he said, pulling out a chain with some sort of pendant on it. When he held it up, she saw that it was a hound’s face. It looked exactly like the helmet he used to wear in King’s Landing. “I’d like you to wear it,” he said awkwardly, then added: “as a reminder of who you belong to.”  
A big smile burst out on Lenore’s face, and she looked at her husband.  
“It’s perfect, thank you so much. Will you put it on me?” she asked, turning around and moving her hair out of the way. With an oddly gentle touch, Sandor slid the hound’s necklace around her neck and clasped it. It hung right over her heart, and she brought her hand up to touch it. She couldn’t help smiling again as she turned around. “You’re perfect,” she said and gave him another kiss.  
Daenerys had ordered Daario Naharis to stay in Meereen and keep the peace. She had renamed Slaver’s Bay the Bay of Dragons. And she had named Tyrion Lannister her Hand of the Queen, and Sandor as her first war strategist. Varys had returned now as well, and he had successfully made allies with the sand snakes in Dorne, and with Olenna Tyrell. When he returned to Meereen, he did so with a few Dornish ships.  
Finally, a few days later, it was time to sail. The Dornish ships carried the Martell sails with a red sun pierced by a golden spear. Many of the Greyjoy ships still carried the blue and gold kraken sails of house Greyjoy. But the majority of the ships, with the former Masters’ fleet, carried black sails with red dragons, of house Targaryen. Every inch of Lenore was excited as she and Sandor rode their horses down to the shore. They hadn’t spent much time riding here in Meereen, but Windrunner was happy to see Lenore, and Stranger was glad to see Sandor. They rode onto one of the ships, one which had a stable, and they left the horses there with the other horses, the ones the Dothraki horde had brought with them.  
Then they went back up on deck, and stood with Daenerys, Tyrion, Missandei and Varys as they set sail, back to their homeland. The journey was a pleasant one, albeit long. It took them two months on that ship, but Lenore didn’t mind. She had time to spend with Sandor, Tyrion, Varys and Daenerys. They played quite a lot of card games, and Lenore learned new gambling games and drinking games every week. She would practice fighting with whomever agreed to it, learning both Unsullied and Dothraki moves. She also had the pleasure of watching her husband shine when it came to war planning. He shared strategy ideas with the Unsullied, with the Dothraki - Missandei helping to translate - and with the council. Daenerys had even learned not to fear him by now. She could look him in the eye and ask her silly questions when she wanted.  
Most nights in their cabin were spent the same. With Lenore and Sandor’s bodies intertwined. They didn’t care that Tyrion who slept in the cabin next to them probably heard all their noises. Lenore had heard him plenty of times throughout the years, so she saw this as payback. Tyrion would always squint at her in the mornings when her legs shook as she walked. Sandor never looked prouder.  
Occasionally, Lenore and Daenerys would leave the ship, to fly around on the dragons and watch the view from up far. Lenore had ridden both Rhaegal and Viserion, but never Drogon. Only Daenerys rode him. The thrill of flying atop a dragon’s back over the seas was something else entirely. When Viserion dipped his wings and tail in the water, it splashed all over, making Lenore chuckle, before they rode up again.  
Finally, they were nearing Dragonstone. Dragonstone was the island near King’s Landing, where they had been born, and where they were now going to stay. Stannis Baratheon had kept camp there before, but now it was deserted. The climate here was colder, so the long sleeve dresses were back on as they climbed off the large ship and into a small boat. Daenerys was standing up, watching as they closed in on the island, and she was the first off the boat. It was an emotional moment for all of them, but for her the most. Her dragons already circled the island. It was beautiful. Sandy and stony, living up to its’ name.  
They all let Daenerys walk first. She knelt on the beach, bringing her hand down to feel the cold sand, taking in the place which was her birthplace, but she didn’t remember it. Lenore’s hand came down to Sandor’s, holding it softly as she breathed in the crisp air. Here, she could stay. Together, they all followed Daenerys as she walked, up the stairs, to the wall surrounding the castle. Two enormous dragon heads made of stone sat outside the gates, causing Lenore to shiver.  
Two Unsullied soldiers opened the gates, revealing many more stairs and the big castle atop them. The three-headed dragon sigil of house Targaryen could be seen etched into the castle wall. When they finally reached the inside of the castle, the banners of Stannis Baratheon hung there. With a decisive tug, Daenerys pulled it down, before continuing the exploration of her temporary castle. The Unsullied soldiers opened another door, revealing the throne room.  
It was dark and cold, with a throne made out of stone. Daenerys was the only one who approached it, as the rest of them looked around the room. Eventually, she move on from the throne and found another room, with a big map table, showing all of Westeros. More dragons could be seen on the walls, but Daenerys’ hand traced across the map table. She came to stand at the very edge of it, with Tyrion watching her idly.  
“Shall we begin?” she asked.


	40. Fighting positions

“How does it feel to be back here?” Sandor asked Lenore as she was taking off her gloves and unpacking in her chamber.  
“I don’t remember ever being here before,” she answered sadly and truthfully, fiddling with the hound’s head necklace on her chest. She hadn’t taken it off once since she got it.  
“You think we’ll win?” he changed the topic.  
“We have a Dothraki horde, an Unsullied army, and three dragons. And we have you. Of course we’ll win,” Lenore said confidently. Sandor chuckled at her.  
“You forgot someone,” he added, and Lenore raised an eyebrow. “Yourself. Been watching you on that boat. You’re almost as deadly as me now,” he said with a cocky grin. Lenore tackled him onto the bed and play fought him.  
“Almost?” she asked when he let her pin his arms down on the bed. “Not almost. At least,” she corrected and kissed him hard.  
A violent storm was raging when Sandor and Lenore joined Daenerys and the council in the map room that night. They entered in the middle of a conversation.  
“We won’t stay on Dragonstone for long,” Tyrion said.  
“Good,” answered Daenerys, who apparently wasn’t too pleased with her new temporary stay. They both looked up and nodded and Lenore and Sandor when they entered the room. Then Daenerys put her hands on the map table and observed the pieces. “Not so many lions,” she said.  
“Cersei controls fewer than half the Seven kingdoms,” Varys chimed in. The lords of Westeros despise her. Even before your arrival, they plotted against her, now-”   
“They cry out for their true queen? They drink secret toasts to my health?” Daenerys asked, dusting off her hands and approaching Varys. “People used to tell my brother that sort of thing and he was stupid enough to believe them,” she said harshly. She lifted up one of the three wooden dragon pieces. “If Viserys had three dragons, and an army at his back, he would have invaded King’s Landing already,” she continued, giving Lenore a knot in her stomach. She wouldn’t let her sister go the say route as their brother.  
“Viserys was reckless, and Viserys died,” she chided.  
“Conquering Westeros would be easy. But you’re not here to be queen of the ashes,” Tyrion added. Daenerys seemed to snap out of the thought pattern she was in.  
“No,” she agreed, stilling Lenore’s anxiety for the moment, setting the dragon down.  
“We can take King’s Landing without turning it into a slaughterhouse,” Tyrion continued. “If the great houses support your claim against Cersei, the game is won. With the Tyrell army and the Dornish on our side, we have powerful allies in the south.” Daenerys turned to Varys.  
“I never properly thanked you for that,” she said. Varys almost looked uncomfortable.  
“They joined our side, my queen, because they believe in you.”  
“You served my father, didn’t you, lord Varys?” she asked. The knot returned to Lenore’s belly. She hoped her sister wouldn’t make a big thing out of this, she had already come to Varys’ defence once. But Daenerys was headstrong.  
“I did,” Varys said.   
“And then you served the man who overthrew him.” While squinting at Daenerys, Lenore noticed Tyrion doing the same thing. Neither of them liked where this was going.  
“I had a choice, your Grace. Serve Robert Baratheon or face the headsman's axe.”  
“But you didn’t serve him long. You turned against him,” Daenerys said.   
“Robert was an improvement on your father, to be sure. There have been few rulers in history as cruel as the Mad King… Robert was neither mad nor cruel. He simply had no interest in being king,” Varys explained.  
“So you took it upon yourself to find a better one,” Daenerys assessed.  
“Your Grace…” Tyrion interrupted. “When I was ready to drink myself into a small coffin, lord Varys told me that a queen in the east-”  
“Before I came to power, you favoured my brother,” Daenerys continued, ignoring Tyrion’s would-be-monologue. “All your spies… your little birds… did they tell you Viserys was cruel, stupid and weak? Would those qualities have made for a good king, in your learned opinion?”  
“Why are we talking about Viserys? He’s dead, we’re not, Varys is here, not with someone else,” Lenore snapped, earning her sister’s attention for a mere second before it was directed back to Varys.  
“Until your marriage to Khal Drogo, your Grace, I knew nothing about you, save your existence and that you were said to be beautiful.”   
“So you and your friends traded me like a prized horse to the Dothraki,” Daenerys assessed coldly.  
“Which you turned to your advantage,” Varys argued.  
“Who gave the order to kill me?” she asked. Tyrion looked uncomfortable. Varys answered.  
“King Robert.”  
“Who hired the assassins?” Daenerys asked, stepping up close to Varys. “Who sent word to Essos to murder Daenerys Targaryen?”  
“Your Grace, I did what had to be done to-”   
“To keep yourself alive,” she cut him off.  
“Lord Varys has proven himself a loyal servant,” Tyrion chimed in again.  
“Proven himself loyal? Quite the opposite,” Daenerys sneered. Lenore rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically and loudly, something her sister ignored. “If he dislikes one monarch, he conspires to crown the next one. What kind of a servant is that?”  
“A smart one!” Lenore insisted.   
“The kind the realm needs,” Varys answered firmly, and Lenore couldn’t help but agree with him. “Incompetence should not be rewarded with blind loyalty. As long as I have my eyes, I’ll use them. I wasn’t born into a great house. I came from nothing. I was sold as a slave, and carved up as an offering. When I was a child I lived in alleys, gutters, abandoned houses, you wish to know where my true loyalties lie? Not with any king or queen, but with the people. The people who suffer under despots, and prosper under just rule. The people whose hearts you aim to win!” He collected himself. “If you demand blind allegiance, I respect your wishes. Grey Worm can behead me or your dragons can devour me. But if you let me live I will serve you well, I will dedicate myself to seeing you on the iron throne, because I choose you. Because I know the people have no better chance than you.” He finally finished speaking, and there was complete silence save for the storm, until Daenerys spoke.  
“Swear this to me, Varys. If you ever think I’m failing the people, you won’t conspire behind my back. You’ll look me in the eye as you have today and tell me how I’m failing them.” Varys nodded.  
“I swear it,” he said with a bow. Everything seemed to have worked out.  
“And I swear this, if you ever betray me, I’ll burn you alive,” Daenerys said, and Lenore’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Varys, however, smiled.  
“I would expect nothing less from the mother of dragons,” he answered calmly. Lenore, however, was upset.  
“This man brought you your current Hand. He risked his life to get Tyrion to you, and he risked his life giving you Dorne and Highgarden for allies. And you’re threatening to burn him alive!? You know of our father’s crimes and yet you act like him!” she yelled. Sandor chuckled to himself from where he stood. Lenore had never been shy when it came to causing scenes in court and screaming at monarchs, but he had thought that might end when it was her own sister who ruled. But apparently she was still a little spitfire.  
“I’m not our father!” Daenerys shot back.  
“Then don’t act like it! Lord Varys is my friend and a valuable servant, and you should treat him with more respect,” Lenore spat, before turning on her heel and stomping out of the map room without letting Daenerys answer. She hurried outside to still her thoughts, walking out on the cliff, where Viserion sat. Seeing the yellow dragon look at her made her calm down a little, but it wasn’t enough. So up she went, climbing onto him.  
“Vlah,” she leaned down and whispered. Viserion took off, carrying Lenore on his back as he flew where he wanted. From atop his back she could see King’s Landing, and her focus cleared, her thoughts returning to their mission. Viserion made a dramatic dive, and Lenore being lost in her thoughts, didn’t hold on hard enough and fell forward with a shriek. Luckily, she managed to grip his horns with her hands and steady herself, and was now sitting on his neck. She almost laughed out loud when she realised. This was better. When Viserion made a right turn, Lenore experimented, pulling one of her swords out and leaning down as far as she could to the left. She grinned when she cut a tree branch in half. She could fight from this seat.  
But it proved to be unsteady, as she almost slipped off at the next turn, pulling a frightened face as she squeezed her legs tight against the dragon’s neck to keep herself on him. It didn’t even faze him. She tucked her sword back in the sheath and resumed her grip on Viserion’s horns as she smid her plans. To fight from atop a dragon she needed to be effective, not only while he was close to the ground. She would start practising with a bow and arrow tomorrow, she decided.


	41. The prince or princess who was promised

“Bunch of foreigners besieging King’s Landing is exactly what Cersei wants. By now she’ll have built up enough fear of foreigners in the lords and commoners alike that if you send the Dothraki or Unsullied you’ll only prove her point,” Sandor said, tossing the wooden Unsullied and Dothraki pieces aside.  
“What, then?” Tyrion asked, frustrated that the Hound was bashing his siege plans.  
“Did the cockless bald spider get us those allies for nothing? Two Westerosi armies will be better than two foreign ones,” he muttered. “Tyrell army’s been sitting around smelling roses since the Blackwater. About time they do some fucking good.” Tyrion and Grey Worm looked at Sandor, and then to each other, nodding in agreement with the plan.  
Lenore had long since learned how to aim while throwing knives and other objects, but it had never occurred to her how useful it would be to know the bow and arrow. And how difficult it was. She had found and old target, some arrows and a decent sized bow while rummaging through the Dragonstone armoury, and she had set them up and started practising. She didn’t realised how many hours had passed until Varys approached her, snapping her out of her trance.  
“Your presence is requested in the map room,” he said and folded his hands together in that way that only he did.  
“Requested, not required?” Lenore asked and raised an eyebrow, shooting another arrow.  
“Not required, but probably valuable after what you did last time,” Varys confirmed. Lenore huffed.  
“Couldn’t stand hearing her talk to you like that,” she said simply.  
“She’s your sister.”   
“Doesn’t mean she gets to be a cunt to my friends,” she answered and fired off the next arrow, this time hitting the center. Varys made a dramatic face.  
“I wish you’d never been set up with the Hound. He’s brought out the worst in your language,” he said.  
“That’s true, he has,” Lenore admitted without a care, aiming a new arrow.  
“Laenerys, please come to the map room with me,” Varys said, and Lenore dropped her bow and turned to face him.  
“You’ve never called me that,” she said. Varys shrugged.   
“It’s your name.”   
“You’ve never called me that,” she repeated, and started gathering up her arrows, cleaning up after herself. “Come on then,” she urged Varys and started walking towards the castle again.  
The map room was packed. Grey Worm, Missandei, Tyrion, Daenerys, Sandor, Yara and Theon Greyjoy, Ellaria Sand, and Olenna Tyrell. And now Lenore and Varys. Apparently they walked in at quite a heated moment.  
“There are no innocent Lannisters! My greatest regret is that Oberyn died fighting for  _ you _ ,” Ellaria sneered at Tyrion.  
“That’s enough!” Daenerys interrupted. “Lord Tyrion is Hand of the Queen, you will treat him with respect,” she demanded, and Lenore chuckled bitterly. Everyone’s eyes turned to her.  
“Yes, I showed up, keep going,” she urged, annoyed that they stopped their bickering or planning for her. Daenerys put her hands on the map table.  
“I am not here to be queen of the ashes,” she said firmly, and Tyrion looked up at her hopefully. The old queen of Thornes, Olenna Tyrell, spoke.  
“That’s very nice to hear. Of course, I can’t remember a queen who was better loved than my granddaughter. The common people loved her. The nobles loves her. What is left of her now? Ashes,” Olenna said, and Lenore remembered hearing what Cersei had done. Blown up the Sept of Baelor with wildfire to avoid her own trial, thereby killing a whole load of innocent people. Olenna continued. “Commoners, nobles, they’re all just children really. They won’t obey you unless they fear you.” Daenerys nodded slightly.  
“I’m grateful to you, lady Olenna for your council, I’m grateful to all of you,” she said and looked up. “But you have  _ chosen  _ to follow me. I will not attack King’s Landing.  _ We  _ will not attack King’s Landing,” she said, looking sternly at Ellaria, who looked venomous.  
“They how do you mean to take the Iron Throne? By asking nicely?” Lady Olenna asked. Lenore had to force back a smile at that.   
“We will lay siege to the capital, surrounding the city on all sides. Cersei will have the Iron Throne, but no food for her army or the people,” Daenerys started explaining, then Tyrion took over.  
“But we won’t use Dothraki and Unsullied. Cersei will try to rally the lords of Westeros by appealing to their loyalty, their love for their country. If we besiege the city with foreigners, we prove her point. Our army should be Westerosi,” he said. Sandor nodded in the background. Lenore smiled faintly when she realised those were probably his words repeated.  
“And I suppose we’re providing the Westerosi,” Ellaria Sand said bitterly.   
“You are,” Tyrion answered plainly.  
“If you’re gonna sulk about it, you shouldn’t have allied with us in the first place,” Sandor chided, receiving a sour glare from the Dornish woman.  
“Lady Greyjoy will escort you home to Sunspear,” Tyrion told Ellaria. “And her Iron Fleet will ferry the Dornish army back up to King’s Landing.” While he spoke, he moved the pieces around on the map table. “The Dornish will lay siege to the capital, alongside the Tyrell army. Two great kingdoms united against Cersei.”   
“So, your master plan is to use  _ our  _ armies,” Lady Olenna said, disapprovement in her voice. “Forgive me for asking, but why did you bother to bring your own?”   
“Some allies you got,” Sandor sneered in Varys’ direction.   
“Enough,” Daenerys said, looking at him scoldingly.  
“You’re a great big beast of a man, how come you’re not going to be at the front line? Perhaps you’re just a beat puppy after all,” Olenna challenged Sandor, and Lenore raised her eyebrows in shock. No one spoke to Sandor like that. But the queen of Thorns was unafraid. Sandor didn’t get the chance to answer.  
“Clegane and the Unsullied will have another objective,” Tyrion said, moving another few pieces on the table. “For decades, house Lannister has been the true power in Westeros. And the seat of that power, is Casterly Rock,” he explained as he walked around the table. “The Hound, Grey Worm and the Unsullied will sail to Casterly Rock, and take it.” He used the wooden Unsullied soldier to knock over the wood lion on Casterly Rock. The atmosphere in the room changed, and the women around the table stopped looking so sour.  
“Do I have your support?” Daenerys asked.  
“You have mine,” Yara said confidently.  
“Dorne is with you,” Ellaria agreed. And Olenna nodded her head. But Lenore frowned.  
“I’m sorry,” she started, taking a few steps forward and clasping her hands behind her back as everyone turned to look at her, “but why would Cersei give two shits about Casterly Rock?” Tyrion looked affronted.  
“It’s the Lannister seat of power!” he exclaimed.   
“The Iron Throne is Cersei’s seat of power. She’s completely unsentimental and it shocks me that you don’t know that about your own sister,” Lenore said harshly.  
“Cersei will have an army at Casterly Rock, and it’s worth beating that army,” Tyrion argued. Lenore shrugged.   
“Fine. If that’s what you think. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said. Tyrion looked at her with a strange face.  
“Thank you all,” Daenerys intervened. “Lady Olenna, may I speak with you alone?” she then asked, and everyone but Daenerys and the queen of Thorns left the room.  
“You think invading the Rock is a bad idea,” Sandor stated when he caught up with Lenore.   
“I do,” she replied simply.  
“So do I,” he agreed, and she stopped in her tracks, turning around and putting her hands on his chest.  
“Why didn’t you tell them that!?” she asked indignantly.  
“I did. They disagreed. I gave up,” Sandor said, and Lenore huffed.  
“Idiots.”   
“Aye.”   
“Don’t die because of idiocy.”   
“I won’t, little lady.” Sandor put his hands on Lenore’s back, rubbing it as they walked. “Fuck, I forgot to tell you!” he suddenly exclaimed, stopping abruptly. Lenore spun around to listen to him as the others kept walking away.  
“Yes?”   
“I met Stannis Baratheon’s red witch a few days ago.”   
“A few days ago!? And you’re just telling me now?” Lenore scolded indignantly.  
“I told you, I forgot. It was after you stormed out of that meeting. We all met her in the throne room and she said something about Daenerys being a promised princess for the dawn or some shit. Then wanted her to invite Jon Snow to Dragonstone.” When Sandor finished speaking, Lenore’s mouth hung open.  
“Jon fucking Snow!? Ned Stark’s bastard! Why?”  
“Something about him telling her what he’s seen. Apparently he’s king in the North now. Possible ally. Anyway she already sent a raven. Thought you’d want to know,” he finished simply.  
“Yes… yes. Thank you for telling me,” she said absentmindedly.  
Later in the evening she knocked on Daenerys’ chamber door.  
“Come in,” she said, and Lenore entered. “Laenerys. Good evening,” Daenerys said when Lenore closed the door behind her.  
“Evening. Seems you forgot to tell me something important…” Lenore cut straight to the point. Daenerys sighed.  
“I wanted to tell you. Well, I wanted you to  _ be  _ there, but you ran off. I didn’t come to you after because I thought you might still be angry with me,” she explained, getting up to pour them each a glass of wine.  
“I was.”   
“Not anymore?”  
“Only a little,” Lenore said and smiled when she was handed the glass. “So Jon Snow, hmm?” she asked, sitting down and letting Daenerys talk.  
“The Lady Melisandre told me of a prophecy. Of a war that was to come, and that a prince or princess would bring the dawn. She thinks I and Jon Snow have parts to play.” Daenerys took a sip of wine and awaited Lenore’s reaction.  
“You invited him here,” she said.   
“I did. What do you think of that?” Daenerys asked. Lenore shrugged. “Do you know him?”  
“No,” Lenore said. “But I knew his father. Good man, honourable. His honour got him killed. I’ve heard Jon inherited that honour. And I know his sisters, Sansa and Arya. I love them both as my own.” Daenerys nodded.  
“He’s proclaimed himself King in the North. I invited him to bend the knee,” she said. Lenore pursed her lips and thought for a while.  
“You allowed the Iron Islanders their independence. Couldn’t you grant the North that same benefit?” she asked.  
“You’re the one who told me I can’t rule without the North!” Daenerys objected, and it was true. In a way.  
“Granting their independence would earn you their favour. Ruling five kingdoms with the North as your independent ally would be easier than ruling six kingdoms with the North in open rebellion. But I suppose it all depends on him.”   
“It does. If he decides to show up.”  
The next day Lenore was down on the beach, practicing again.  
“You’re getting good. But you need to relax your bow arm,” Sandor said as he came walking out on the wet beach where Lenore was shooting arrows. She made a face at him, but did as he said, shooting the next arrow with more ease. “Good. You gonna tell me why you decided now is a good time to learn the bow?” he asked, amused.  
“Best way to fight off a dragon’s back,” Lenore said, plucking out another arrow and firing it off.  
“You plan on doing a lot of fighting off a dragon’s back soon?” Sandor asked, raising his eyebrow.  
“Yes,” she said, drawing another arrow, but Sandor knocked it out of her hand and grabbed her face roughly.  
“Seven Hells,” he growled and crashed his lips down on hers. She was in shock of his sudden move, but kissed him back eagerly. When he pulled away he almost looked hungry, starving. “We’re leaving for the Rock. Had I told you that before I kissed you, you wouldn’t have let me,” he said, thinking back to the battle of the Blackwater when Lenore had refused his kiss until he returned unharmed. A smile broke out on her face, and she brought her hand to his cheek, caressing it softly.  
“Taking Casterly Rock will be an easy task. There’s not a doubt in my mind you’ll return to me with that adorable scowl on your face, grunting about how shit Lannister soldiers are at fighting,” Lenore said, and Sandor chuckled.  
“Aye, they are shit at fighting. Alright, girl. Until I return,” he said and smacked her bum hard, making her squeal. “Relax your fucking bow arm.”


	42. This is Jon Snow

Sleeping without Sandor next to her proved to be a horrible experience. Lenore’s bed felt cold and empty, as did her soul. After failing to fall asleep for hours, she got up and lit a fire, then crawled back under the covers with a second blanket. She was clutching her hound’s head necklace hard when she finally managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep.  
Waking up without him wasn’t fun either. No sleepy giant who rolled around and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tightly to him before finding a few more moments of rest. Lenore sighed as she got up and made the bed. Dragonstone was oddly empty when all the Unsullied were gone. Barely any guards anywhere, while usually there was one around every corner. After having breakfast, Lenore was about to head to the armoury to check on her project, but she stopped in her tracks when she was faced with a beautiful woman dressed in all red, with long red hair cascading down her back. The woman said nothing, only looked at Lenore long and true.  
“You’re Melisandre, then?” Lenore asked, breaking the silence. The red woman came closer.  
“I am, my Lady,” the priestess said. Lenore took a step back instinctively. Arya had told her about this woman. She had kidnapped Arya’s friend Gendry while they were with the Brotherhood without Banners. She extended her hand, and Lenore backed again.  
“Don’t touch me, I know what you are,” she objected coldly. Melisandre smiled.  
“I know what you are as well. I know what you want. All you wish for is a peaceful life with a gentle giant. And you will have what you wish for. But first you must face a great number of pains. You will face heartbreak and betrayal, but you will have what you want most,” Melisandre said calmly, before gliding away, leaving Lenore with an uneasy feeling in her gut.  
She turned around with a frown on her face and watched the red woman leave, wondering what in the seven hells any of that meant. She liked to sing about the gentle giant, but she had no desire to have a life with one. She shook the thoughts off and walked down to the armory.  
The weeks went by, and Lenore soon learned to sleep alone again, but she missed Sandor each day. Today, Varys informed her that Jon Snow was on his way. How he knew that, Lenore didn’t know, but Varys was always right, so she trusted him. She dressed in the red Targaryen colour for the occasion, and Missandei helped braid her hair into a elegant half updo. Once done, Lenore went outside, finding Rhaegal and climbing atop him. The dragon took wing, finding his brothers already in the air. Lenore let him decide the route, as long as she had the view of the sea. As Varys had promised, she saw the boat coming towards shore. She watched from Rhaegal’s back as the bastard of Winterfell with his advisor and a few guards came ashore, greeted by Tyrion, Missandei and some Dothraki. When they walked up the many stairs, Drogon flew first, and Rhaegal after. Lenore and the two dragons came from behind the company.  
She smirked as both dragons screeched loudly, and all the Northsmen underneath them screamed and ducked, Jon Snow looked most scared of them all, lying on the stairs with a terrified look on his face. Lenore chuckled mischievously as she flew around the castle and back up to the cliff, landing, and getting off the dragon’s back.  
“Thanks for that,” she told the green dragon and winked at him before he flew back up to his brothers, and Lenore went back inside too meet up with the northern company. She made it her goal to catch them before they entered the throne room, because there was something she needed to ask Jon Snow. She hurried through the corridors and finally heard their footsteps. When she saw them approaching, she marched through the Dothraki, straight up to Snow, and with both hands pushed him to the side and shoved him up against the wall. He put his arms up in surrender and looked at her with a shocked face.  
“Sansa. Is she alright?” Lenore demanded. She hadn’t realised how desperate she was for the answer as she held the northern bastard to the stone wall.  
“Y-yes!” Jon exclaimed, and Lenore released him. “Seven Hells…” he muttered and rubbed his throat. “You know her?”  
“Yes. My name is Lenore Clegane.”   
“Sansa mentioned you!” Jon exclaimed when he tried to figure out who she was. “She said she had a friend who was forced to marry the Hound. But she said you were a Baelish.”   
“That’s what I told her. But I’m really a Targaryen. Nice to meet you, Jon Snow,” Lenore said with a smirk and patted his shoulder roughly. He looked stumped, but they kept walking towards the throne room.  
Once the door to the throne room opened, Lenore and Missandei walked first, taking their places atop the stairs next to the throne, where Daenerys sat quiet, in her black gown and red cape. Missandei introduced the queen.  
“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful queen of the Andals and the First Men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms. The Mother of Dragons. The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. The Unburnt. The Breaker of Chains,” Missandei spoke loudly and clearly. There was a moment of silence and Jon looked awkwardly at his companion, Davos.  
“This is Jon Snow,” Davos said simply. Daenerys looked apprehensive, and Lenore bit her lip to stifle a laugh. “He’s King in the North,” Davos added when he noticed the awkwardness.  
“Thank you for travelling so far, my Lord,” Daenerys said from her throne. “I hope the seas weren’t too rough.”  
“The winds were kind, your Grace,” Jon Snow said, but Davos intervened.  
“Apologies, I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know, but Jon Snow is  _ king  _ In the North, your Grace, he’s not a lord  
“Forgive me,” Daenerys began, not knowing how to address this man.  
“Your Grace, this is Ser Davos Seaworth,” Tyrion explained. Davos Seaworth had been with Stannis Baratheon back in the days, when they laid siege to King’s Landing and lost. Time had changed.  
“Forgive me, Ser Davos, I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn I read that the last king in the North was Torrhen Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestor, Aegon Targaryen. In exchange for his life, and the lives of the Northmen, Torrhen Stark swore fealty to house Targaryen in perpetuity. Or do I have my facts wrong?” Daenerys asked. Both Jon and Davos looked uneasy.   
“I wasn’t there, your Grace,” Davos said.  
“No. Of course not. But still, an oath is an oath. And perpetuity means… what does perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?” she asked.  
“Forever,” Tyrion said.  
“Forever,” Daenerys repeated, looking back to Jon and Davos. “So I assume, my  _ Lord,  _ you’re here to bend the knee.” Jon Snow sighed.  
“I am not,” he admitted. Daenerys looked angry but like she was trying to hide it.  
“No. Well that is unfortunate,” she said. “You’ve travelled all this way to break faith with house Targaryen?”  
“Break faith?” Jon questioned with a smile. “Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive. He would have burned the Seven Kingdoms-”   
“My father… was an evil man. On behalf of house Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter, by the sins of her father. Our two houses were allies for centuries. And those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms have ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity. With a Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne, and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. You’re looking at the last Targaryens, Jon Snow. Honour the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I  _ will  _ name you Warden of the North. Together, we will save this country from those who would destroy it.”  _ Good speech,  _ Lenore thought. Jon Snow looked around the room obnoxiously before looking back to Daenerys.  
“You’re right,” he said. “You’re not guilty of your father’s crimes. And I’m not beholden to my ancestor’s vows.”   
“Then why are you here?” Daenerys asked coldly.  
“Because I need your help. And you need mine,” he said, sounding awfully sure of himself. Lenore raised a curious eyebrow, and Daenerys looked unimpressed.  
“Did you see three dragons riding overhead when you arrived?”   
“I did.”   
“And did you see the Dothraki? All of whom have sworn to kill for me.”  
“They’re hard to miss…” Jon said.  
“But still, I need your help?” Daenerys questioned. It had agitated her deeply, it seemed, that Jon dared suggest such a thing.   
“Not to defeat Cersei,” Ser Davos intervened. “You could storm King’s Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, we almost took it and we didn’t even have dragons,” he said, and Lenore snorted.  
“Almost…” Tyrion teased, and he and Lenore exchanged a look. Jon Snow, who looked brooding, spoke again.  
“But you haven’t stormed King’s Landing. Why not?” he asked, asking both Daenerys and Tyrion. “The only reason I can see is you don’t want to kill thousands of innocent people. It’s the fastest way to win the war, but you won’t do it. Which means, at the very least, you’re better than Cersei.” Jon almost smiled when he said that.   
“Still, that doesn’t explain why I need your help,” Daenerys said. The brooding look returned to Snow’s face.  
“Because right now, you and I, and Cersei, and everyone else, we’re children, playing at a game, screaming that the rules aren’t fair.” Lenore was impressed with the balls he had to come with that statement to a Targaryen queen.  
“You told me you liked this man,” Daenerys muttered to Tyrion as she looked angry with Snow’s comment.  
“I do,” Tyrion insisted.   
“In the time since he’s met me, he’s refused to call me queen, he’s refused to bow, and now he’s calling me a child,” she said.  
“I believe he’s calling all of us children…” Tyrion answered. “Figure of speech.”  
“Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter’s over if we don’t defeat the enemy to the north!” Jon Snow went on, losing his patience.  
“As far as I can see,  _ you  _ are the enemy to the north,” Daenerys argued.  
“I am not your enemy. The dead are the enemy,” Snow said, and Lenore raised her chin, looking at him apprehensively. Daenerys didn’t seem as bothered.  
“The dead?” she asked, unimpressed. “Is that another figure of speech?”   
“The army of the dead is on the march,” Snow insisted.   
“The army of the dead?” Tyrion mocked. Lenore frowned, apparently the only one in the room who didn’t immediately dismiss his words. Jon Snow sighed, building up energy to try to convince them.  
“You don’t know me well, my lord, but do you think I’m a liar? Or a madman?”   
“No, I don’t think you’re either of those things,” Tyrion assured him.  
“The army of the dead is real! The white walkers are real, the Night King is real! I’ve seen them. If they get past the wall, and we’re squabbling amongst ourselves...” He took a step forward but stopped when the Dothraki matched him, looking threatening. “We’re finished,” he said. There was a long uncomfortable silence.  
“I was born on Dragonstone,” Daenerys said after a while. “Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert’s assassins could find us.” She got up and slowly walked down the steps. “Robert was your father’s best friend, no?” she asked. “I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib.” Lenore perched up when she remembered something.  
“He probably didn’t, but he was against it. He tried to stop Robert from having you killed when you married Drogo with the motivation that you were just a child,” she said. Varys had told her that once after a particularly rowdy council meeting. Daenerys’ eyes wavered.  
“Not that it matters now, of course…” she said. “I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don’t remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I’ve been chained and betrayed. Raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing?” she asked as she stood right in front of Jon Snow. “Through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths, and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn’t seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn’t crossed the sea, any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will.” Her tone was calm and harsh, and Jon Snow nodded slowly.  
“You’ll be ruling over a graveyard, if we don’t defeat the Night King,” he said seriously. Tyrion walked forward.  
“The war against my sister has already begun. You can’t expect us to halt our hostilities and join you in fighting… whatever you saw beyond the wall,” he tried to reason with all parts involved. Davos joined the conversation.  
“You don’t believe him. I understand that. It sounds like nonsense. But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen back to our shores, it has also made Jon Snow King in the North. You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros. He is the first to make allies of wildlings and Northmen. He was named lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, he was named King in the North, not because of his birthright, he has no birthright, he’s a damn bastard. All those hard sons of bitches chose him as their leader, because they believe in him. All those things you don’t believe in, he faced those things. He fought those things for the good of his people. He risked his life for his people, he took a knife in the heart for his people, he gave his own li-” he stopped, and Jon looked at him uncomfortably. Lenore knotted her eyebrows together, wondering what he meant. “If we don’t put aside our enmities and band together, we will die. And then it doesn’t matter whose skeleton sits on the Iron Throne…” Davos finished. Lenore liked him.   
“If it doesn’t matter then you might as well kneel,” Tyrion said. “Swear your allegiance to queen Daenerys, help her to defeat my sister, and together our armies will protect the North.”   
“There’s no time for that! There’s no time for any of this! While we stand here debating-”  
“It takes no time to bend the knee! Pledge your sword to her cause,” Tyrion insisted.  
“And why would I do that!? I mean no offence, your Grace, but I don’t know you. As far as I can tell, your claim to the throne rests entirely on your father’s name. And my own father fought to overthrow the Mad King. The Lords in the North placed their trust in me to lead them, and I will continue to do so, as well ad I can.”  
“That’s fair,” Daenerys said softly. It’s also fair to point out that I’m the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By declaring yourself King of the northernmost Kingdom, you are in open rebellion.” Lenore closed her eyes and sighed to herself. Jon Snow looked wild. Rushed steps were heard coming towards the throne room. Varys came running up to Daenerys and whispered something in her ear. She didn’t look happy.  
“You must forgive my manners. You’ll both be tired after your long journey. We’ll have baths drawn for you and supper sent to your rooms. She repeated the same thing in Dothraki to her bloodrides before turning on her heel to walk up the stairs to the throne again.  
“Am I your prisoner?” Jon Snow asked. Daenerys turned around to look at him.  
“Not yet,” she said, as they followed the Dothraki bloodrider out from the room. When the doors closed, Daenerys turned to Varys to listen.  
“Our Ironborn and Dornish allies were attacked on route to Dorne,” he said solemnly.  
“And?” Daenerys asked.   
“Two or three ships escaped. The rest, sunk or captured. Ellaria and the sand snakes dead or captured, the Greyjoys dead or captured.”  
“All of them?”  
“As far as we know.”  
“Leave me,” Daenerys commanded, and everyone started walking out of the room. “Not you, Laenerys.”


	43. Sink the Iron Fleet

“My queen?” Lenore asked as Daenerys sat down on the throne and rubbed her face.  
“What do we do?” Daenerys asked back. “You already predicted Euron Greyjoy would declare for Cersei and you were right. I should probably start listening to you…”   
“Yes, you should. Euron Greyjoy did this. We need to find his fleet and burn it. What did Olenna Tyrell say to you before they left?” Lenore sat down on the top step and looked at her sister.  
“She told me not to be a sheep. She said I’m a dragon, I should be a dragon.”  
“Good. We’ll take all three dragons and find Euron Greyjoy’s fleet, and we’ll burn it to ash.” Lenore was decisive, and Daenerys agreed.  
“And what of Jon Snow?” she then asked. Lenore smiled.  
“We should help him,” she said simply, shocking her sister.  
“You believe him? About the white walkers?”  
“Of course I do,” Lenore said. Daenerys shifted uncomfortably on her throne and stared at Lenore.  
“Why?”  
“No one in Westeros believed you had three dragons, but I did, and here we are. What else is out there that people don’t believe in?” Lenore challenged, and her sister sighed. It was a difficult thing, believing in an army of dead men. It wasn’t reasonable for Jon Snow to come here and expect Daenerys to believe him. “Offer him something. Instead of treating him as a threat, treat him as an ally and ask if there’s anything you can help him with. Like I told you, the North is important. You can’t rule without their support.”   
“I can’t rule with them in open rebellion!” Daenerys countered. Lenore sighed.  
“If you alienate Jon Snow he’s only going to me  _ more  _ likely to rebel. You need him to support your claim to the throne! Offer him something small, and let the seed grow,” she insisted. Daenerys didn’t look happy with her sister’s words, but she nodded.  
Later in the day, the small council met in the map room. Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, Daenerys and Lenore. Daenerys tipped over the Dornish wood piece.  
“We need to find Euron Greyjoy’s fleet, and sink it,” she said decisively, making Lenore proud that she was for once listened to. It came as no great shock that the council disagreed.  
“Your Grace, he’s already destroyed a good portion of our fleet. To send our remaining ships after him-” Varys began but Daenerys cut him off.  
“I’m not talking about sending our  _ ships  _ after him,” she said. Varys looked at Tyrion with concern on his face.  
“Would you have to go yourself?” Tyrion asked. “Euron’s ships could be anywhere, or in more than one place. You’d be flying around the open seas alone, for who knows how long?”  
“I wouldn’t be alone! Laenerys would be with me, and Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal. What can anyone do to them?”  
“They can still do something to you. It only takes one arrow,” Missandei chimed in. Lenore was growing increasingly impatient, tapping her feet on the floor.  
“It’s too great a risk, you’re too important,” Tyrion said. Daenerys eyes wavered.  
“Then  _ I’ll  _ go alone. I’m not important,” Lenore stated.  
“You are, you’re my sister,” Daenerys insisted, and Lenore rolled her eyes.  
“So we’re not going?”   
“No.”   
“You’re joking! You  _ just  _ said you should take my advice more often!” Lenore shrieked. Tyrion put his hand on her arm to calm her down, and she snarled at him. He flinched.   
“Stop acting like your husband…” he scolded her. Daenerys changed the topic.  
“What about Casterly Rock?” she asked.  
“The Hound and the Unsullied will be there soon,” Varys said.   
“And what will they face?” Missandei asked.  
“A difficult situation,” Varys said uncomfortably. “They know we’re coming.”   
“Yes,” Tyrion affirmed. “Cersei believes my sole purpose in life is to destroy house Lannister. She will be ready. No one has ever taken the Rock. The Lannister army is still the army my father built. Well trained and well provisioned. Ten thousand men at least.”   
“Have you ever fought with the Lannister army?” Lenore asked.  
“Not really,” Tyrion admitted.  
“My husband has. Many times. He says they’re shit at fighting.” Tyrion sighed.  
“That’s because your husband is unreasonably good at fighting,” he said, and Lenore smirked with pride. “They will see us coming,” Tyrion continued about the army. “They will be ready. The gates of Casterly Rock are impregnable. The fight up the walls will be hard. We will be at a disadvantage. Many men will die. Just as my father said they would… Interesting thing about my father. He built our house up from near ruin. He built our army. He built Casterly Rock as we know it. But he didn’t build the sewers.”  
Daenerys looked confused as to why this man was talking about the sewers. But he continued.  
“That was beneath him. So he gave the job to the lowest person he could find. Me. He was right, I was low. The company I kept, low, women mostly. They weren’t welcome at the Rock. Father disapproved of that sort of behaviour. Couldn’t walk them through the front gates, couldn’t have them in my chambers. So in the process of building the sewers, I threw in something for myself. It was a passage, that began in an out of the way cove by the sea, and ended beneath one of the main guard towers. No better place for low pursuits than beneath the ground. Casterly Rock is an impregnable fortress. But as a good friend of mine once said: give me ten good men, and I’ll impregnate the bitch… And so it begins… They will face the bulk of the Lannister forces. They will be outnumbered. They will have less armour and fewer weapons. But my sister’s armies fight for her out of fear. The Unsullied will be fighting for something greater. They will be fighting for freedom, and the person who gave it to them. They will be fighting for you. And that is why they will triumph.” Tyrion finally finished speaking. It was a good speech, but it was entirely false. Lenore lifted her chin up high.  
“None of this, of course, will happen as you say, because Cersei does not care about Casterly Rock. The majority of Cersei’s army will not be at Casterly Rock,” she informed them calmly.

Sandor snarled as he yanked his sword out from a Lannister soldier’s gut. He walked after Grey Worm out on the wall of Casterly Rock, stepping over the pile of dead bodies. They had won. Way too easily. There were supposed to be more Lannisters. Grey Worm knew it too, and he took off his helmet. The soldiers said something in Valyrian that Sandor couldn’t understand, but he knew the voice of a soldier who realised his strategy had been wrong.  
Sandor and Grey Worm both looked out over the water and saw what they dreaded. They Greyjoy cunt and his Iron Fleet were attacking and sinking their ships. Sandor couldn’t find it within himself to react, but Grey Worm jumped down from the fence and yanked one of the barely breathing Lannister soldiers off the ground.   
“Where are they!? Where are the rest of they Lannisters!?” he shouted, but the man died before Grey Worm’s question was even finished. They had been outsmarted. Nothing pissed Sandor off more. He wanted to get back to his little lady, not be stuck at Casterly Rock because of a plan he had already once dismissed as stupid.


	44. Spoils of war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted action, here you go. This was my favourite scene to visualise, but not favourite to write, lol!

“Dragonglass?” Lenore asked Jon Snow the next day. She had run into him as he had gotten lost trying to find his way back to his chamber, but now they were walking outside together.  
“Aye. It kills White Walkers. Dragonstone is full of it. And her Grace has been kind enough to allow me to mine it,” Snow said.  
“That’s what’s in that cave, then?” she asked, and Snow nodded. Then he changed the topic.  
“How well did you know my sister?”   
“Sansa? Quite well. We were two miserable young girls held hostage by the same cunt of a queen. We could bond over that,” Lenore said with a smile. “And Arya and I, we would bond over wanting to murder the same people.” Jon Snow put his hand out, grabbed her arm and stopped her. She looked at him in surprise.  
“You knew Arya? When?” he demanded.  
“Sandor and I roamed the Riverlands with her after we escaped King’s Landing. We travelled with Arya for probably a year,” she explained, and Jon’s jaw dropped. “I-I should’ve told you immediately, I’m sorry,” Lenore realised.  
“I thought Arya was dead!” Jon exclaimed.   
“Well she wasn’t when I last saw her. We parted ways in Braavos. She went to join the Faceless Men,” Lenore explained as best she could and as fast as she could. Snow looked completely astounded.  
“What was she like?” he asked after a while.  
“Fierce and murderous,” Lenore said honestly, and Snow chuckled.  
“Aye, she would be.”   
“You were close, then? You were the one who gave her that sword. Needle,” Lenore remembered the name of the skinny little sword Arya had retaken from Polliver.  
“She still has it?” Jon asked, a bit of wonder in his eyes. Lenore rubbed his arm comfortably.  
“She still has it,” she repeated with a kind smile.  
Later in the day, Lenore was chatting with Tyrion about the events of the day.  
“I told our queen to offer Jon Snow something, as a step to a more productive relationship with a possible ally,” Tyrion said, sipping from a glass of wine. Lenore chuckled, and Tyrion looked at her curiously.  
“That’s funny. I told her the same thing, without even knowing about the dragonglass.” Now Tyrion smiled proudly to himself.  
“I’d like to believe I did my part in raising you,” he said.  
“You, Varys and Littlefinger. With all I’ve learned from you, I should be Hand to every king or queen there is,” Lenore said and laughed.  
“Speak of the Devil!” Tyrion burst out when Varys came towards them. Tyrion smiled, but Lenore frowned, because she saw the expression on Varys’ face.  
“What is it?” she asked and stood up.  
“I’m afraid I have bad news…” the spy master said mournfully. He told them everything he knew, and with each word, Lenore’s anger grew.  
“I bloody TOLD YOU it was a bad plan!” she shouted at Tyrion at the top of her lungs as they walked.  
“Yes, fine, you were right!” Tyrion whined.   
“If my husband dies because of your rubbish fucking plan, I’ll kill you both!” she yelled at the two men, and they both exchanged a shamed look. The three of them stood and waited outside the cave, where Jon Snow was showing Daenerys the dragonglass inside. The two of them came out of the cave together, both looking quite flustered. Missandei and Davos came after. Daenerys noticed the shameful expressions on Tyrion and Varys’ faces, and the contained fury on Lenore’s, and her face changed.  
“What is it?” she asked, annoyed.   
“We took Casterly Rock,” Tyrion said.  
“That’s very good to hear,” Daenerys responded, confused why they looked so grim. “Isn’t it?” she asked when Varys and Tyrion looked at each other pitifully.  
“It seems Lenore was right… Cersei didn’t care about the Rock. Rather than placing her armies there she placed the Iron Fleet there. They sunk our fleet,” Tyrion said regretfully.  
“You should have listened to me, we should have gone and burned down the Greyjoy cunt’s fleet the second we heard of it!” Lenore muttered. Daenerys looked furious as she kept listening to Tyrion’s explanation, and didn’t say a word as she started walking past them with angry, determined steps. Everyone followed as she walked across the beach.  
“You’ll want to discuss this amongst yourselves…” Davos said, trying to excuse himself and Snow from the situation.  
“You will stay!” Daenerys ordered. “All my allies are gone. They’ve been taken from me while I’ve been sitting here on this island!”  
“You still have the largest armies,” Tyrion insisted.  
“Who won’t be able to eat because Cersei has taken all the food from the Reach!” Daenerys was genuinely upset for her people.  
“Call the Hound, Grey Worm and the Unsullied back. We still have enough ships to carry the Dothraki to the mainland. Commit to the blockade of King’s Landing, we have a plan, it’s still the right plan-”   
“The right plan!” Daenerys shouted and turned around, stopping. Tyrion flinched. “Your strategy has lost us Dorne, the Iron Islands and the Reach!”   
“If I have underestimated our enemies-”   
“Our enemies!? Your family, you mean!” Daenerys basically snarled. Tyrion looked shocked. “Perhaps you don’t want to hurt them after all,” she continued. The dragons were heard from a bit away, soaring among the clouds, and it seemed to still Daenerys a little. “Enough with the clever plans… I have three large dragons, I’m going to fly them to the Red Keep.”   
“We’ve discussed this!” Tyrion warned.  
“My enemies are  _ in  _ the Red Keep,” Daenerys seethed. “What kind of a queen am I if I’m not willing to risk my life to fight them!?”   
“A smart one!” Tyrion insisted. Daenerys rolled her eyes and looked away. Then she looked at Jon Snow.  
“What do you think I should do?” she asked him, and he looked surprised.  
“I-I would never presume to-”  
“I’m at war. I’m losing,” Daenerys said desperately, walking up to the King in the North. Lenore squinted as she watched them, wondering what Jon Snow would have to say. “What do you think I should do?” Daenerys asked him again.  
“I never thought that dragons would exist again…” he started. “No one did. The people who follow you know you made something impossible happen. Maybe that helps them believe, that you can make other impossible things happen. Build a world that’s different, from the shit one they’ve always known. But if you use them,” he nodded towards the dragons, “to melt castles and burn cities…” he shook his head, “you’re not different. You’re just more of the same,” he said, and Daenerys’ expression had changed from anger to sympathy, and she nodded. Then she turned to Lenore.  
“What do we do?” she asked, and Lenore smiled.  
“Glad you asked.” Lenore told them all about her plan, and no one had the guts or confidence to disagree anymore. And so, they both changed into something more fit for dragon riding. 

Lenore saw the opportunity to break out another armour dress she’d had made, and then she went to the armoury, dragging out the huge leather saddle they had been working on for a while now. They had only finished it yesterday, and it was perfect. It was enormous enough to fit on a dragon’s neck and be clasped around it. And it had two harnesses on the sides that she could fasten her legs to so there was no risk of falling off. With her swords tucked into their sheaths, and her bow and arrow on her back, she went to meet Daenerys on the cliff, where she stood with Drogon and Rhaegal.  
Lenore had help from two leatherworkers, attaching the saddle to Rhaegal’s neck. She was worried he might protest, but he didn’t, he only waited patiently. Then she climbed up, and worked her ankles into the harnesses and clasped them. She smiled proudly at Daenerys, who climbed on top of Drogon.  
“Ready?” she asked. Lenore nodded.  
“Ready.” Together they flew off, despite Tyrion looking absolutely miserable at the idea of it. He and the Dothraki rode their horses the same route that Daenerys and Lenore flew the dragons. It took them quite some time to reach their destination, but Lenore didn’t mind. She enjoyed the feeling of flying over the world on the back of a dragon, and she enjoyed the views. The Dothraki were amazing, the closer the got, the faster they rode, and the louder they cheered. Lenore suddenly understood why they were called Dothraki screamers. Robert Baratheon used to say that only a fool would meet the Dothraki in the open field. Well, now the Lannisters would have no choice.  


“What’s that?” Bronn asked Jaime when he heard it. Hooves. Jaime turned his head, hearing it as well. He set off on his horse, riding around his army.  
“Spears and shields! Spears and shields!” he yelled, and all the men in red and gold armour started scurrying together and arming themselves..   
“Get in line! In line now!” Bronn shouted as he followed his commander. The soldiers all grabbed their weapons and formed a barrier, as the sound of hooves grew closer and closer. Then cheering was heard, and hollering, and screaming. It was a sound they had never heard before. Only heard  _ of  _ it. Dothraki. A whole horde of them, they could see it now on the horizon.  
“Spears out!” Randyll Tarly commanded, and the soldiers obeyed.  
“Get back to King’s Landing,” Bronn urged Jaime as he rode up to him.  
“I’m not abandoning my army!”   
“You’re the commander, not a damn infantry man. Those fuckers are about to swamp us!” Bronn insisted. Several of the men at the front lines were trembling. They had never faced anything like this.  
“We can hold them off,” Jaime said, and just as he did, a terrible screech came from the sky. He and Bronn both looked up in shock, as two huge dragons appeared through the clouds.

Lenore’s eyes were focused on her target as she and Daenerys soared forward. Red and gold armour was all she could see. The dragons roared once more, and the two Targaryen sisters looked at each other, smirked, and nodded. Daenerys looked forward.  
“Dracarys,” she said firmly, and both Drogon and Rhaegal opened their mouths, raining fire on the Lannister troops. Lenore took one side, and Daenerys the other, while the Dothraki rode through the fires, still yelling and cheering, beginning to pave their way through the Lannister barrier.  
Rhaegal flew across the land, over the army, breathing fire down on them, and Lenore whipped out her bow, getting ready. Somewhere in the distance she could hear Jaime Lannister shouting “hold the line!” as many of the Lannister soldiers simply gave in and ran. The Dothraki were brutal, cramming through the shield barrier, cutting down soldier after soldier, all while the two dragons flew overhead and burned through the men. Lenore rounded on the dragon, aiming her arrow at Bronn and hitting his shoulder before she flew over the next line of Dothraki archers.  
They were incredible, they all stood up in their saddles as they shot arrow after arrow at the enemies, and Lenore did the same, shooting to her sides as Rhaegal paved the path forward. Lenore looked up and saw Daenerys on Drogon. She had another objective, she was burning up the loot train, with all the wagons carrying the food towards King’s Landing. As Lenore and Rhaegal plowed through the soldiers from behind, Drogon flew up in the air in front of them, and Jaime Lannister gathered all his archers.  
“Knock!” he shouted. Lenore knocked. The Lannister soldiers knocked. “Draw!” Lenore drew. The Lannister soldiers drew, all aiming at Daenerys and Drogon. Lenore hoped her sister had enough sense to duck. Drogon was soaring forward now, coming towards the Lannisters in full speed. The archers held. Lenore held. “Loose!” Jaime shouted, and all the archers let their arrows fly towards Drogon and Daenerys, but not one of them managed to do any harm. Lenore’s arrow, though, stuck the Kingslayer’s horse in the behind and it reared, running away with Jaime barely holding on.  
Drogon and Rhaegal met in the field and flew past each other, each raining fire down beneath them, wreaking havoc on the Lannisters and burning the wagons transporting their food. Jaime Lannister rode back to Bronn and told him something Lenore couldn’t hear, but Jaime held his golden hand up and Bronn rode away. Lenore followed him with her eyes as her dragon flew in another direction. While Bronn rode towards his destination, he was faced with a Dothraki soldier. He drew his dagger and threw it at the soldier, who with his arrakh blocked it. The two rode towards each other, weapons out, and before Bronn could go for his attack, the Dothraki rider leaned down to his side in his saddle, cutting the leg off of Bronn’s horse. It screamed, and Bronn fell off.  
Lenore was forced to look away as an arrow came towards her. The arrow hit her shoulder, but because she was armoured, it didn’t pierce the steel, but it got stuck. Lenore snarled and yanked the arrow out, sticking it on her bow and aiming it at the little bitch who had shot at her. She hit him in the chest and watched him fall, before she flew off again, set on relocating Bronn. It was difficult to see through the thick black smoke the dragonfire created, and when she found him again, her eyes widened.  
The sellsword had unearthed a tented wagon carrying an enormous weapon. It was like a crossbow, only huge. It had clearly been created to be able to kill, or at least hurt, a dragon. She was about to head for him and burn it down, but received yet another arrow from behind, this one to her back, and it hurt like a bitch. Several more arrows flew past her. With an angry scream she reared the dragon, and he turned around, screeching before raining fire on the archers on the ground. Then she took off into the air again, locating Daenerys and Drogon. They were flying around in the air, seemingly unaware of Bronn’s weapon. Lenore had to warn her.  
Rhaegal flapped his wings as he went higher and higher, so close to his brother, and Lenore was just about to shout, when a huge bolt flew through the air, just barely missing Dany and Drogon. Daenerys gasped and leaned to the side, spotting Lenore.  
“You have to burn it!” Lenore shouted and pointed at Bronn and the scorpion, before abruptly racing back down to the ground to chase after the Lannister man. She had just found him, was just about to attack, when she heard a painful cry coming from a dragon, and not Rhaegal. She whipped around, and realised that Bronn’s scorpion bolt had hit Drogon in the chest. He seemed to forget how to fly, and simply tumbled through the sky with Daenerys clinging on for dear life. Lenore watched in horror as the dragon fell, but finally he managed to flap his wings, soaring just about the lake, and Daenerys looked pissed off.  
Drogon roared, and Bronn jumped off of the wagon the last second before Drogon burned it to a crisp, smashing it with his tail as if in a temper tantrum when he landed on the ground. Daenerys climbed off of him, going to pull the enormous arrow out from his shoulder. Drogon screeched in pain as Daenerys tried for dear life to pull the bolt out. Someone was watching it happen. Jaime Lannister. And he saw a spear nearby. Lenore watched as he rode forward, grabbing the spear, and on his white horse he galloped forward.  
“Come on, Rhaegal…” Lenore urged, and the dragon quietly moved through the air. Her arms were shaking and her eyes were focused on one point as she rode Rhaegal in full speed. The gold and red armour and the blonde hair and the white horse. The Kingslayer was riding towards Daenerys and Drogon as fast as he could, spear aimed forward in his good hand. Lenore gave a scream as she approached him, and just as he was about to put the spear in Daenerys' back, and just as Drogon was about to set him on fire, Lenore flew past them, and Rhaegal opened his mouth, taking the Kingslayer right in his mouth. Daenerys gasped and Lenore nodded towards her before she screamed in victory again and flew up into the air, getting her dragon to turn around, heading back to Dragonstone as fast as his wings could carry him.


	45. Reunions

With a hard thud, Rhaegal landed on the shore of Dragonstone, where Jon Snow, Davos Seaworth and Missandei stood. Lenore unclasped herself from the saddle and climbed off of Rhaegal and walked toward his long neck and face.  
"Pykagon," she told him, and he gave a reluctant cry, shaking his head to the side, making Lenore chuckle. "You don't want to spit? Does he taste that good? Pykagon," she repeated in a more assertive tone, and the dragon listened, opening his mouth and the Kingslayer fell out with a groan. He had acquired a few bloody scraps from Rhaegal's teeth, but otherwise he was unhurt. "Thank you," Lenore told the dragon and patted his neck, and he curled into her before returning to his proud posture.  
Jaime grunted again and reached for his sword, swinging it back against Lenore, but she grabbed it with her left hand, ripped it from him with her right hand and hit him in the back with the flat side.   
"Don't even try it... last time I saw you you had longer hair. Easier to grab onto. But I'll have to make do," she said and kicked him between his legs and he fell forward again.  
"Even with one hand I'm a better fighter than you," he groaned and looked up at her from his knees.  
"I doubt that. You do remember I was on the run with the Hound, don't you? Do you think I sat around sewing while he did all the fighting?"  
"I thought you just fucked all day," Jaime sassed and grinned, earning him another kick.  
"We had the nights for that. In the days, we practiced." Jaime made a point to get up, but Lenore put the sword right against his throat. "Don't try anything, Lannister," she warned.  
"You won't kill me," he objected. "If you brought me here alive, it means you think Daenerys wants me alive."  
"She'll want you alive, but I don't think she'll care if you're unhurt. I can rid you of your other hand if you'd like. Or maybe your foot. Your leg. Legs? One foot and one leg? Or maybe your cock. Daenerys certainly won't need that."  
"Who knows? Maybe she will," Jaime said with another grin, and Lenore punched him in the face, hard enough to break his nose.  
"If you'd rather sit here like a petulant child and wait for my sister, fine! Her dragon is more aggressive than the one I ride. But even Rhaegal hasn't eaten today, so I can't promise  _ he _ won't kill you. He probably thinks you taste good, he didn't want to spit you out."  
"Fine! Fine, I'll walk," he gave up.  
"Good. Get up," Lenore spat and held the sword against his back as he rose. "Walk," she commanded. She led the Kingslayer into the castle, forced him down on his knees again, and two Dothraki men tied him to a post. "And now you wait."

Sandor Clegane sat on the wall of Casterly Rock, throwing stones over it. He was hungry, he was angry, and he was tired. It had been days since they sacked Casterly Rock, meaning it had been days since they last ate anything. His stomach growled, and he looked up across the sea.  
“The fuck is that?” he muttered when he saw a ship coming towards them.  
“It is a ship,” Grey Worm responded matter-of-factly from beside him.  
“I know it’s a fucking ship, but I can’t see the damned sails,” Sandor growled.  
“It is one of ours,” Grey Worm said when he looked closer.  
“What’s one of our fucking ships doing here?” Sandor grunted and got up. Grey Worm followed him to the beach after commanding his soldiers to stay inside the castle.  
  
The ship sailed into the shore, and a small boat came towards the beach. The ship appeared to only be carrying one or two men, in Dothraki clothes.“Dragonstone,” the Dothraki said when he waded through the last bit of water up to Sandor and Grey Worm.  
“What?” Sandor asked with a frown. The Dothraki pointed at Sandor and Grey Worm and himself.  
“Dragonstone. Go. Some,” he said. Sandor puzzled together his words. The ship could only carry about a hundred men, so some of them could go back, and the majority would have to stay.  
“Pick some men and let’s go,” Sandor urged Grey Worm, and the Dothraki handed him a wineskin. He laughed bitterly before he took it and drank, the strong liquid burning his empty stomach. “This isn’t wine,” he stated when he handed the skin back to the Dothraki man.  
“No wine. Hrazef,” the man said. Sandor knew that word to mean horse.  
“Fermented mare’s milk? I heard you mad fuckers drank that shit. Didn’t believe it. Not too bad!” he stated, pointing at the wineskin with a nod. The Dothraki man chuckled and drank some himself. Soon enough, Grey Worm returned with a handful of men behind him. It took the small boat three turns to get them all onto the ship, but eventually they were all on, and they headed back towards Dragonstone.

Lenore didn’t know what Daenerys was doing, why she was taking so long to get back. But in the meanwhile, she was talking to Jon Snow again. While they had been gone, Theon Greyjoy had returned to Dragonstone. He had narrowly escaped Euron’s attack on their fleet and had returned to Daenerys. Yara had been captured by Euron.  
“You’ve known him since you were a boy,” Lenore stated, looking down at the beach where Theon stood with some of his men.  
“Aye. He was my father’s ward. He betrayed us and took Winterfell,” Snow responded, then he sighed. “But he saved my sister. He’s the one who helped Sansa escape from the Boltons and led her to me at the Wall.” Lenore nodded.  
“Good. I was so scared for her when I heard she was marrying that Bolton bastard. I knew Roose Bolton. No son of his could be a good person.”   
“He wasn’t,” Snow confirmed. They sat in silence after that, just taking in the surroundings.

A few days had passed on the ship, and Sandor and Grey Worm were sitting in a cabin drinking after their meal. It had taken Sandor a while to convince the Unsullied soldier to drink, but finally he gave in, sharing both the fermented mare’s milk and wine. He didn’t like either of them.  
“You don’t drink it for the taste,” Sandor said. Grey Worm huffed, then looked distant. Longing. “What is it?” Sandor groaned. Grey Worm looked at him.  
“You are married,” he said.   
“What of it?” Sandor asked suspiciously.  
“You miss her?” Grey Worm asked, his eyebrows relaxing as he leaned forward. Sandor shifted where he sat and looked uncomfortable. He took another big sip of mare’s milk.  
“Every day. She’s the only source of good in my life.”   
“Tell me more,” Grey Worm said softly, looking genuinely curious. Sandor huffed and drank some more.  
“Before I met Lenore, I served this spoiled little cunt of a king. Did it for money and nothing else. Hate was the only thing that kept me going. Then this soft, pretty little thing comes to me one night.” He took another drink. “Didn’t think anything would come of it at first. She was a good fuck, then she’d go back and realise what a fool she’d been to come to me. The cunt king made us get married, and I thought ‘great now she’s stuck with me’. Again, didn’t think anything other than misery would come of it.” Sandor looked away, taking another drink and sighing.  
“But?” Grey Worm inquired.  
“But… sappy little thing that she is, weaseled her way into my heart and built a home there. Now the only thing that drives me is the idea of getting back to her. Every man I kill, I kill for her. Every road I take, I take for her.” He shook his head. “I’m a dumb cunt, really.” There was a long silence before Grey Worm spoke again.  
“Unsullied are taken from their homes as children. Given new names to remind us what we really are. The Masters, they make us not human. We do not know love, or fear. I did not know love, or fear, until I meet Missandei of Naath,” he said, and Sandor looked up from his cup of fermented milk.  
“And now you love her,” he assessed. Grey Worm nodded.  
“I have fear now. Fear that I will not return to her.”  
“Maybe we’re not so different.” Sandor refilled both their cups and raised his own. “Here’s to dumb, lovestruck cunts like us,” he said. Grey Worm smiled slightly and raised his cup as well, before they both drank.

Lenore watched from the wall of the castle as Daenerys flew back in on Drogon. They landed on the cliff, where Jon Snow had been brooding. Lenore watched curiously how he reacted to the largest dragon when it with determined steps marched up to him and screeched in his face. The screech was so loud that Lenore could hear it, and she chuckled. Yet Jon Snow stood his ground, and approached the dragon, with Daenerys still on its’ back. He slipped off his glove, and slowly, slowly extended his hand until he was touching Drogon’s cheek.  
It was impressive, Lenore thought, and she could only imagine the look Daenerys must have on her face. The thought of it made her grin. They would be quite cute together, Lenore realised, if they were to become a couple. A Northern king and a Southern queen. Jon Snow was calm and seemed just. He would make a nice counter to Daenerys’ wild, sometimes rash manner. Daenerys climbed off Drogon and he flew away, and Lenore stopped watching as Jon and Daenerys talked. She couldn’t hear them, so she was about to walk back to the throne room and wait for Dany there, but she saw several Dothraki approaching, and she stayed.  
The Dothraki said something to Daenerys, and then stepped to the side, revealing beside them Ser Jorah Mormont. Lenore turned back around and continued watching for Daenerys’ reaction. She looked happy, and soon she wrapped her arms around Jorah, seemingly welcoming him back into her service. Lenore smiled, and  _ then  _ she went to the throne room and waited.  
Soon enough, Daenerys followed by Ser Jorah and some Dothraki, entered the throne room.  
“Laenerys!” the queen greeted. “You never formally met Ser Jorah, but you advised me, no, yelled at me, to keep him by my side. Today he returns to my service, cured of Greyscale,” Daenerys continued. Lenore smiled and curtsied at the knight.  
“My name is Lenore, or Laenerys- “ she corrected herself “Clegane. I’m Dany’s sister,” she introduced herself. Ser Jorah took her hand and kissed it.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my Lady. I’m thankful for your support,” he said, and Lenore smiled again. She instantly liked this man. But she remembered why she had been waiting for Daenerys in the first place.  
“I captured Jaime Lannister. Thought you might want to question him. Or torture him… he’s rotting in the dungeons right now,” she said, and Daenerys looked surprised, but composed herself quickly.  
“Good, let him rot,” she concluded, and Lenore nodded.


	46. Pretty yellow dress

Tyrion and the rest of the Dothraki returned a few days later. Tyrion had immediately taken Lenore aside and told her what Daenerys had done after she left. She had forced the remaining Lannister soldiers to bend the knee, or die. She had allowed Drogon to burn Randyll and Dickon Tarly alive.  
“That worries you,” Lenore surmised when Tyrion finished speaking.  
“Of course it worries me. She could have sent them to take the black, she could have imprisoned them, but she burned them alive.” Tyrion poured himself a cup of wine and sighed.  
“I’ll talk to her…” Lenore mumbled.  
“Do so. Lenore… what happened to my brother?” he asked, and Lenore pursed her lips, her face becoming stern.  
“You know what he did. He worked with Cersei and Euron to burn our fleet. I’ve imprisoned him and he will stay there,” she said firmly, leaving Tyrion no room to argue. Tyrion and Jaime were close, Lenore knew that. He was the only Lannister who treated Tyrion with kindness and respect. She didn’t hold Tyrion’s fondness for Jaime against him, but she didn’t pay any mind to it now either.  
Lenore was in a yellow dress, strolling through the castle with Ser Jorah the next day. Ser Jorah had - like so many others - been horrified at the prospect that Lenore was married to the Hound, but she had only chuckled and told him how happy she was. The more she talked about her marriage, the more she missed her husband. He had to return any day now, he just had to, Lenore thought. She clutched her necklace tightly and changed the subject.  
“Where did you find the cure?” she asked.  
“A young man at the citadel saved me. He broke every rule the maesters had set, just because he heard my name was Mormont, and he had served under my father in the Night’s Watch.” Ser Jorah looked humble and grateful as he spoke, and it made Lenore smile fondly.  
“You’re a very likable man, Ser,” she said, and he looked utmost surprised. Lenore couldn’t help but chuckle.  
“I’m flattered,” Mormont responded, and suddenly a thrill ran down Lenore’s spine and she froze.  
“Who’s that little lady in the pretty yellow dress?” a familiar voice asked. Lenore whipped around.  
“Sandor!” she shrieked, and ran the fastest she could, throwing herself in her husband’s arms and wrapping her arms and legs around him. He chuckled as he picked her up, holding her tightly and giving her a kiss. Then he looked at Ser Jorah.  
“Excuse me, I have some unfinished business with my wife,” he said and walked off with Lenore in his arms. Ser Jorah bowed his head and chuckled.  
“How did you get back here?” Lenore asked as Sandor walked them with determined steps towards their chamber. He squinted at her.  
“Like you don’t know that. You think I’m stupid? I know exactly which little lady sent that ship to Casterly Rock.” His tone was accusive and Lenore giggled. “Missed me that much, hmm?” he asked and kissed her again. She ran her hand down his cheek.  
“I did. I couldn’t risk sending all our ships after you in case Euron was still around.”  
“Greedy little one, aren’t you?” Sandor’s lips were touching hers as he talked, and it sent shivers down her spine. “You wearing that pretty dress for me?” he rasped. Lenore nodded.  
“Your house colour and all,” she whispered, and Sandor crashed his lips down on hers as he pushed her up against their chamber door. The door flung open and he walked into their room, kicking the door shut again. His hands were roaming Lenore’s body as his mouth claimed hers almost desperately. Lenore tangled her hands in his hair and tugged at it as his hands came up under her dress.  
“Mmm… missed your soft little body,” he murmured, squeezing her sides before dropping her on the bed. With a giggle she sat up and started tugging at the lacing of her dress, untying it while Sandor worked his armour off. “You know I killed a bunch of Lannisters, right?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, and Lenore smirked.  
“So did I,” she said, and Sandor’s hands came down, grabbing her face hard and he kissed her again. He would ask her about it later, but now he longed to hold her and be inside her. She pulled off his tunic and gasped quietly.  
“Who did this?” she asked while she trailed her fingers up a long red scab on his side.  
“Some dead cunt,” Sandor growled back and pulled Lenore’s dress over her head. He picked her up and laid her down with her head on the pillow before he ran his hands, tongue and lips down her face, neck, chest and stomach, until he reached her wet sweet spot. He was quick to slip a finger inside her, making her moan in pleasure and spread her legs more for him. His lips came down and kissed her there. She moaned again but shook her head, reaching for his hand and bringing him up again.  
“No time for that… need you… need all of you,” she whispered, and Sandor pulled his finger out of her, kicking off his boots and breeches before grabbing his cock and teasing her cunt with it, rubbing it up and down her wet center a few times before she mewled miserably and bucked her hips up against him, making him chuckle. With a hand on her cheek and a soft kiss on her lips, he pushed himself into her with a low groan. This was coming home, to him. Lenore’s eyes fluttering shut and her lips falling open in a moan was everything. Her soft hand clutching his upper arm with her nails digging into his skin had him more content than killing a thousand Lannister soldiers.  
He pulled out and slammed back into her again, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Sandor placed sloppy kisses down Lenore’s neck before burying his face in the crook of it, inhaling her sweet scent. He picked up the pace and fucked her harder, holding her tightly in his arms as he pounded into her. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, squealing and whimpering as he completely dominated her body. Her fingertips dug into his arms, his shoulders, his back, scratching and leaving marks and he hissed while she clawed at him, loving it.  
Then, Lenore used all her force and flipped them over, Sandor onto his back and she put her hands on his chest as she started lifting herself up and crashing back down on his big cock. His hands gripped her hips tightly helped her impale herself on his cock. He enjoyed the sight of her breasts bouncing as she rode him, but he needed to be closer to her, needed to hold her again, so he sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist, giving her a wet sloppy kiss as he moved with her.  
She in turn entangled her arms around his neck and rested her forehead against his, looking into his eyes. Her eyes wavered and her lip trembled in a fashion that meant she was close. Sandor brought one hand down to her cunt and used his finger to rub circles on her clit. It didn’t take long before she burst, her legs tensing up and shaking as she clutched him tightly. Her walls clenched around his cock and she breathed out his name over and over again. He grabbed the back of her head and held her hard as he came, filling her with his seed. Lenore stilled, breathing quickly and shallowly as she slowly loosened her grip on his, her hands still shaking. Sandor grabbed both her hands and placed them on his chest, his own hands on top of hers.  
“I fucking missed you…” he whispered, and Lenore’s eyes filled with tears.  
“I love you,” she almost whimpered, kissing him hard and desperate.   
“And I love you,” he said softly and stroked her hair.  
“Don’t leave me again,” she begged, and he shook his head.  
“I promise.” Sandor didn’t let go of Lenore once as he laid them both down on the bed, brushing some hair out of her face.  
“Where did you kill Lannister soldiers? Did anyone come here? Is that why you have an arrow wound on your back?” he asked, worried that he had left her here alone without his protection. But she shook her head and told him about the Greyjoy attack, and how she and her sister had taken two dragons and the Dothraki and attacked the Lannisters on the road.  
“Your idea, I assume?” Sandor asked, amused.  
“Yes. Everyone else is either too cowardly or too bold.”  
“What’s bolder than flying two dragons to attack the Lannisters?” he asked and his eyebrow twitched like it did when he was confused.  
“Flying three dragons to attack King’s Landing,” Lenore explained simply, and Sandor nodded.  
“Ah. Your sister’s plan?”  
“Yes. And don’t fucking say it,” Lenore warned, knowing Sandor was about to mention something about who was best fit to rule. He chuckled.  
“Fine, little lady.”  
A few days later they were all supposed to gather in the map room for a meeting. Jon was there first, and Sandor showed up not long after.  
“You’re Jon Snow?” Sandor asked, sizing up the Northern boy in the room.  
“Aye. And you’re the Hound. I saw you once at Winterfell,” he said back, extending his hand, but Sandor didn’t take it. He only looked down on it and snorted, a scowl on his face.  
“You been putting hands on my wife, Snow?” he growled, and Jon shook his head, affronted.  
“No! I’d never presume to- where did you hear- I’d never-”  
“You trying to weasel in and take her from me?” Sandor asked, taking a step closer to the boy king, who backed off.  
“I don’t know what you heard, but I’d never-”  
“Or is it her sister who interests you more? You trying to fuck the queen?” Sandor asked, and Jon’s eyes went wide.  
“Leave him be, my love, you’re terrifying the poor man,” Lenore said with a smile on her face as she walked into the room. Sandor took a long hard look at Jon Snow before he snorted and grinned, clapping the Northern man on his back. Jon looked nervous, but relieved, when he realised Sandor wasn’t actually about to murder him.  
Daenerys walked in along with Ser Jorah, Ser Davos, Varys and Tyrion. Daenerys sat down in her seat. Varys and Tyrion took their seats as well, and Jorah, Davos, Lenore, Jon and Sandor remained standing. But before Tyrion sat, he handed Jon a raven scroll. His eyes went wide as he read it. It took him a while to compose himself, but eventually he spoke.  
“Until recently, I thought Arya was dead. I thought Bran was dead,” he said.  
“I’m happy for you,” Daenerys said, but Jon frowned as he folded the scroll. “You don’t look happy.”  
“Bran saw the Night King and his army marching towards Eastwatch. If they make it past the wall…” he muttered and tossed the scroll onto the table.  
“The wall has kept them out for thousands of years, presumably,” Varys interfered.  
“I need to go home,” Jon insisted.  
“You said you don’t have enough men,” Daenerys said. Jon threw his arms to the sides in desperation.  
“We’ll fight with the men we have. Unless you’ll join us,” he challenged, looking utterly resigned.  
“And give the country to Cersei? As soon as I march away, she marches in,” Daenerys explained. Tyrion, who had been looking distant, now spoke up.  
“Perhaps not.” Everyone turned to look at him. “Cersei thinks the army of the dead is just a story, made up by wet nurses to frighten children. What if we prove her wrong?” he suggested.  
“I don’t think she’ll come see the dead at my invitation,” Jon said with the smallest chuckle. Tyrion got up.   
“So bring the dead to her,” he said. Lenore frowned.  
“I thought that’s what we were trying to avoid,” Daenerys said.  
“We don’t have to bring the whole army. Only one soldier,” Tyrion explained, turning back to Jon. His plan clicked in Lenore’s head now.  
“Is that possible?” Davos asked Jon.  
“First wight I ever saw was brought into Castle Black from beyond the Wall,” he responded.  
“Bring one of these things down to King’s Landing, and show her the truth,” Tyrion urged. Jon looked almost thrilled for a second.  
“Anything you bring back will be useless unless Cersei grants us an audience, and is somehow convinced not to murder us the moment we set foot in the capital,” Varys said, bringing them back down to earth.  
“The only person she listens to is Jaime,” Tyrion said, and Lenore smiled slightly.  
“And we have him here,” she said. Tyrion nodded.  
“He might listen to me.” He looked at Daenerys for permission.  
“And how would you get this message to Cersei?” she asked.  
“Well, you’d have to allow his release…” Tyrion mumbled. To Lenore’s surprise, Daenerys turned her eyes to her.  
“Is releasing him our best option?” she asked, and Lenore took a deep breath. She wasn’t convinced Cersei would buy into this plan, not at all. Should she trust Tyrion that he knew his sister well enough? Or should she refuse this plan and send them all into an early grave once the army of the dead came and Daenerys refused to help?  
“It’s our best option,” she decided, nodding at Tyrion. “You’d have to go with him back to King’s Landing, though. Make sure he does what you tell him to.”  
“And how would he get into King’s Landing?” Daenerys asked. Lenore, Tyrion and Jon looked at Davos.  
“I can smuggle you in,” Davos said. “But if the Gold Cloaks were to recognise ya, I’m warning ya, I’m not a fighter.” Tyrion nodded slightly.  
“Well, it will all be for nothing if we don’t have one of these dead men,” Daenerys said.  
“Fair point. How do you propose to find one?” Varys asked Jon. Jon looked insecure.  
“With the queen’s permission, I’ll go north and take one,” Ser Jorah said. When Daenerys looked at him in shock, he continued. “You asked me to find a cure so I could serve you. Allow me to serve you,” he said. Daenerys seemed incapable of answering.  
“The Free Folk will help us,” Jon Snow spoke up. “They know the real north better than anyone.”  
“They won’t follow Ser Jorah,” Davos said.  
“They won’t have to,” Jon concluded, and everyone looked to him again. Daenerys face told Lenore everything she had to know about how her sister felt about the King in the North. There was fear, pain and dejection on her features.  
“You can’t lead a raid beyond the wall, you’re not in the Night’s Watch anymore, you’re king in the North!” Davos insisted.  
“I’m the only one here who’s fought them,” Jon argued. “I’m the only one here who knows them.” Jorah looked at Daenerys and he saw it too, her desperate look.  
“I haven’t given you permission to leave,” Daenerys said, desperately and helplessly. Jon looked at her.  
“With respect, your Grace, I don’t need your permission,” he said with the stubbornness of a five year old. “I am a king. And I came here, knowing that you could have your men behead me or your dragons burn me alive. I put my trust in you, a stranger, because I knew it was the best chance for my people, for _all _our people. Now I’m asking you, to trust in a stranger. Because it’s our best chance.” He finished speaking and waited for Daenerys. Her eyes wavered, to Tyrion, to Lenore, and then back to Jon. She gave him a nod.  
“Will you come with us?” Jon asked Sandor, who raised his eyebrow in surprise. “Your skills are legendary, you could be of great help.”  
“Quit trying to suck my dick, green boy. I’ll go if you allow it, your Grace,” Sandor responded and looked at Daenerys, who nodded.  
“I’m coming too!” Lenore burst out.  
“Absolutely not!” Daenerys protested.  
“I-”  
“You’re my sister, I need you by my side,” Daenerys insisted, getting up and taking Lenore’s arm. Lenore smiled and put her hand over her sister’s.  
“You don’t really think I’m letting my husband go north of the Wall without me, do you? Who’s gonna protect him?” Lenore asked, and Sandor grinned to himself. He had been so preoccupied with the thought of protecting her that he didn’t realise she was of the exact same mindset about him. Daenerys gave a resigned sigh and sat back down. Tyrion looked confused.  
“You’re not going to try to talk her out of this?” he asked Sandor, who snorted at him.  
“I’m sorry, have you met her?” He nodded towards Lenore. “_You _try to talk her out of it if you think that’s possible. I gave up on trying to talk her out of shit long ago. She’s coming,” he said, and Lenore grinned proudly. 


	47. Going North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off to face the bad stuff!

Tyrion walked out on the cliff where the Hound stood on his own. He was watching something in the sky, Tyrion didn’t know what, until the green dragon broke through the clouds with a screech.  
“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” he asked, coming to stand next to the huge man. The Hound didn’t answer, and as the dragon soared closer, Tyrion realised Lenore was on it, in the leather saddle she’d had made. He smiled. “Did the dragon manage to tame the Hound?” he asked, and Clegane glared at him.  
“Don’t fucking call me that,” he grunted. Tyrion was surprised.  
“You’ve changed,” he stated.  
“She’s changed me,” Clegane muttered. He looked as the woman in the air steered the dragon in a new direction, then throwing her arms up in the air with a triumphant scream. The dragon echoed her, screeching once more.  
“Tell me something before we leave each other. What makes her so special?” Tyrion wondered. Clegane huffed.  
“You’ve known her most her life, if you’re too dumb to figure that out yourself, I’m not telling you,” he scoffed, and Tyrion smiled.  
“I know why  _ I _ admire her. I’m simply curious as why you do.”  
“You ever seen another woman fearlessly climb atop a dragon in a saddle of her own design and shoot perfectly aimed arrows off its back?” he asked, and as if on cue, an arrow came flying and landed right in the between them. Tyrion looked surprised, but then smiled.  
“You fell for her long before she ever saw a dragon though, didn’t you? Why?” he nagged, and Clegane was silent for a long while before answering, in an almost pained tone.  
“When she tells me pretty things I believe them.” Tyrion nodded slowly but didn’t speak. “All my life people treated me the same. Stole secret glances at my scars. Looked at me with disgust. Treated me with fear. Made me the Hound. She never saw me as a Hound. She’s seen enough horrible shit that to her I was just another man. One who hadn’t hurt her...” he trailed off, thinking back to the very beginning of their relationship. “Silly girl thought there were worse men than me,” he said and shook his head. Tyrion smiled again, almost apologetically. Then, the dragon’s wings flapped over their heads as it landed behind them, and they both turned around.   
Lenore tossed the bow onto the the ground before she leaned to the sides to unclasp herself from the harnesses that kept her ankles tied to the dragon’s neck. She almost seemed to slide off the creature’s back before she pushed the saddle off of it and kissed it. Sandor still couldn’t quite handle the fact that the dragon purred when it was near her. She was so delicate and sweet and magical that it made his heart hurt. And when she skipped up to him he tried to stop himself from smiling, from looking like a lovestruck idiot in front of the dwarf, but he couldn’t. The smile reluctantly spread on his face as Lenore leaned up and kissed him, sliding her arms around his neck. He picked her up and she giggled against his lips. In the distance he could hear Tyrion chuckle and clear his throat.  
“Eat shit, dwarf,” Sandor muttered before walking away with his lady in his arms. Tyrion couldn’t help but laugh. Sandor and Lenore took their time with each other this day, spending hours touching and kissing each other. They altered from soft touches and pecks to rough fucking and sloppy kisses, until they were both exhausted and fell asleep still intertwined with each other.  
The next morning, after packing everything she would need going North, which wasn’t much, Lenore found herself in her sister’s chamber, talking about the king of said North.  
“What do you really think of him?” Daenerys asked, when Lenore had brought him up.  
“He’s good company. He seems like a good king,” Lenore said honestly. Daenerys raised her eyebrows. “I know you don’t like the fact that he’s a king, but… you like  _ him _ , don’t you?”  
“I…” was all Daenerys was able to say. Lenore chuckled.  
“It’s alright, I won’t mock you. He’s a good and proper man. Bit too small and brooding for my taste,” Lenore joked.  
“And what is your husband if not brooding?” Daenerys challenged with a small smile. “I’ve never seen him smile once.” Lenore chuckled.  
“No, a real genuine smile from him is rare, I admit. But I manage to coax one out of him every now and then,” she said and smiled fondly. Then she changed the subject. “Try not to burn anyone alive while I’m gone, will you?” she asked, and Daenerys face changed, her eyes widening a little.  
“You burnt men as well! We did it  _ together _ ,” she said, and Lenore nodded.  
“I know. We burned the soldiers during the attack. But after. Dany, you should have had him sent to the Wall, or impri-”   
“I would have sent him to the Wall! But he refused, told me I couldn’t send him there because I wasn’t his queen,” Daenerys explained, and Lenore sunk back in her seat and sighed.  
“Tyrion neglected mentioning that part…” she said and shook her head. Daenerys seemed to understand. They sat in silence for a while until Lenore spoke.  
“Jon Snow feels the same way about you,” she said softly, and Daenerys furrowed her eyebrows. “You should have seen his face when Sandor asked him about you. Blushed like maid,” Lenore kept going and chuckled. Daenerys shook her head.  
“He’s too little for me,” she said, and Lenore laughed out loud, very unladylike.   
“I knew we were sisters,” she exclaimed, her grin not dropping from her face as Daenerys smiled.  
“You’re ridiculous,” she said with a certain fondness in her voice. Lenore nodded.   
“I know.”  
Their journey North couldn’t take place until after Davos and Tyrion returned from King’s Landing. They had to know if they would be granted an audience before setting off on a dangerous mission. They had taken Jaime Lannister with him, and would trade him for a favour from the Lannister queen. It wouldn’t take them more than a few days to reach the capital, a day there and then a few days back. If their mission succeeded, Lenore and the other Northbound would depart that same day, so they were always ready.  
To Lenore’s surprise, when they returned, there was a young man with them. Lenore recognised his face, but she couldn’t place him. Maybe she had seen him back in King’s Landing, since that was where he came from. He was in good shape, in his twenties, with short dark hair and greyish blue eyes. He looked like a young, lean Robert Baratheon, Lenore remarked. He and Davos were about to walk past Lenore into the cave where Jon’s men were mining, but the boy stopped when he saw Lenore and took a step back.  
“You’re that Targaryen girl! Married to the Hound!” he burst out, and suddenly it clicked in Lenore’s head.  
“You’re Arya’s friend! I saw you with the-”   
“Brotherhood!” they both exclaimed at the same time. Davos looked surprised and confused but let the two speak. The young man extended his hand.  
“Gendry Waters.”   
“Lenore Clegane,” Lenore responded, taking his hand. Sandor came walking from the cave.   
“Oh, him I remember,” Gendry said and chuckled, then looked back at Lenore. “Do you know what happened to Arya?” he asked hopefully and worriedly.  
“My husband sort of kidnapped her. Don’t worry, we all made up eventually. We parted ways in Braavos, but I think she’s at Winterfell now” Lenore explained as fast as she could, and Gendry nodded, seeming pleased that at least his friend wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.  
“Gendry, we need to go. We’re leaving today,” Davos said. “The King’s got a lot on his mind.”   
“I understand,” Gendry said, and nodded at Lenore and Sandor before he followed Davos to the cave. Sandor looked at Lenore when he reached her.   
“That Arya’s friend from back then?” he asked. Lenore looked hesitant and almost breathless.   
“Yes. Gendry Waters. He’s a bastard. He looks like Robert Baratheon. You don’t think…” she trailed off and looked after him. Sandor shrugged.   
“Could be.”  
“Seven Hells.”  
A few hours later it was time to leave. In Lenore’s bag was some food, a wineskin and a water bottle. On her were breeches, boots, a tunic and some light leather armour. Jon had promised them thick clothes when they got there. Around her waist hung her weapons belt with a dagger and her two swords. Next to her was Sandor, all big and gruff and armoured as well.   
The men were leading the small boats into the water. Some Northmen and Ser Jorah. Tyrion approached Jorah, and from the looks of it, it appeared they were having a heartfelt discussion, and soon Daenerys approached, with several Dothraki behind her.   
“But bring it back. Our queen needs you,” Lenore heard Tyrion say to Jorah while giving him a coin. Tyrion backed off so that Daenerys could say goodbye to Ser Jorah. Lenore watched from a distance.  
“We should be better at saying farewell by now,” Daenerys said with a smile. Jorah nodded, smiling fondly.   
“Your Grace, I…” he started, but Daenerys took his hands in hers. He looked as if he was pained by the contact, but still wanted more. It was obvious how much he loved her. Lenore admired him for his unyielding devotion despite his knowing that he could never be with her. He noticed Jon Snow approaching, and as his farewell, he raised his queen’s hands to his lips and kissed them. Then he let go and continued helping with the boats. Jon, Davos and Gendry approached, Jon going up to Daenerys.   
“Well, if I don’t return, at least you won’t have to deal with the King in the North anymore,” he said, half joking half not.   
“I’ve grown used to him,” Daenerys spoke softly, and Lenore wrestled with a smug grin that wanted to take over her face.  
“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, your Grace,” Jon told her, and they nodded at each other before he, too, left for the boats. Now finally, Lenore and Sandor walked up to Daenerys.  
“If  _ I  _ don’t return…” Lenore started as a joke, but Daenerys grabbed her hands, almost roughly.  
“You  _ will  _ return to me. I need you in the war against Cersei, do you understand? I need you by my side when I take the throne.” Her voice was almost breaking, and Lenore smiled and nodded.  
“I’ll return, my queen,” she said and wrapped her arms around her sister, hugging her tightly before they both pulled away, and Daenerys turned her eyes to Sandor.  
“Don’t let a dead man kill you before you’ve had a chance of killing your brother,” she said. Sandor snorted.  
“Don’t worry, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Got my big, strong protector right here,” he joked, pointing at Lenore, who grinned proudly. Daenerys shook her head.  
“ _ Both  _ of you are ridiculous,” she scolded and smiled. “Well, off with you before I change my mind and forbid you from leaving,” she urged Lenore, who chuckled and obeyed. She and Sandor pushed the last boat out in the sea and got in, leaving behind Dragonstone and Daenerys.  
The journey North on the boat was pleasant. Gendry had, as soon as he was rid of Davos watchful eye, confirmed Lenore’s suspicion by coming out as Robert Baratheon’s bastard.  
“I didn’t know, not until the Red Woman told me,” Gendry said, and Lenore frowned.   
“The Red Woman? Melisandre?” she asked, taking a sip of, and spitting back out, Sandor’s fermented mare’s milk. She made a disgusted face at him and he just chuckled, drinking some himself. Gendry nodded.  
“You met her?”  
“She’s fucking weird. She told me about a prophecy. Said I’d face pain and heartbreak but end up with all I wanted, a gentle giant,” Lenore snorted. Gendry shook his head, and Sandor looked at her strangely.   
“Prophecies are horseshit. You already have your giant,” he said. Lenore smiled.   
“That’s what I thought, too, that the giant part was just a metaphor for an unusually large man. But you’re far from gentle, my love,” she said and patted his arm.  
“You plan on leaving me for some big, gentle twat?” he asked harshly.  
“No,” Lenore answered simply.   
“Good, then it’s horseshit,” Sandor said and drank some more. Gendry chuckled.  
“Tell me about Arya,” he said. Lenore uncorked her wineskin and poured a cup for her and one for Gendry.  
“You old enough to drink?” she asked him, and Sandor snorted.   
“ _ You’re _ barely old enough to drink, you shouldn’t be asking people that question!” he teased, and she glared at him.  
“I’m twenty two,” Gendry said simply.  
“You’re older than me?” Lenore asked incredulously.   
“Everyone here is older than you, Lenore,” Sandor chided, shoving her with his shoulder, and she shoved back. She handed Gendry the cup and drank some herself.  
“What do you want to know about Arya?” she asked. Gendry shrugged.   
“Everything, anything. A story about her, maybe?” he suggested. Lenore thought for a while before deciding. She told him about when they ran into the hog farmer, and Arya refused to let Sandor kill him, but as soon as he accepted, she had gone and hit the hog farmer in the head with a log, confusing the shit out of her and Sandor. Gendry laughed, and then Lenore continued, telling him about the smooth lies Arya had told to secure them a roof over their heads that night when the storm came, how she had lied about Sandor being their father.  
“Well he’s old enough to be your father,” Gendry joked, earning him a deadly glare from Sandor, and a quiet giggle from Lenore. The rest of the sailing journey flew by, and in general it was quite a nice trip. But it grew colder and colder the further North they came. Lenore didn’t much mind, however. Neither did Sandor, he actually seemed to be able to breathe better up here, which Lenore found fascinating.  
“You fight with a fucking warhammer?” Lenore had asked Gendry one day, when she caught him practising.   
“I do,” he said simply.   
“You really are a Baratheon,” she said, and pulled out her swords. “Let’s see how good you are, then,” she challenged.   
“I can’t fight a lady,” Gendry said, and Lenore’s mouth fell open in a gasp. As punishment for his words, she slashed at him, and he ducked at the last second.  
“I said fight me!” she demanded, and Gendry laughed. He realised Lenore knew what she was doing, and he yanked up his warhammer that he’d made himself.  
There was no way to parry a warhammer with a skinny sword, or even two, so with Gendry, Lenore’s strategy was ducking and avoiding blows, while striking at him on the way back up. He was good, but she was better than him, and got in many good hits, always with the flat side though as to not hurt him for real. After they finished, Gendry smiled and nodded.  
“You’re good, I’ll give you that.”   
“Damn right she’s good, or she wouldn’t be coming,” Sandor’s voice came out of nowhere. “You say you’re a smith,” he continued.  
“Yes,” Gendry said.  
“You’re making me an axe when you have the opportunity.” It wasn’t a request, it was a demand. Gendry nodded.  
“Can do. What are we fighting with now, though? Regular steel doesn’t kill dead men. Wights. White Walkers. Whatever.”  
“They made a bunch of dragonglass daggers,” Lenore said, pulling the black, uneven dagger out from her belt and handing it to Gendry. “Jon has more. His sword is Valyrian steel, which also works. Who knows, maybe your hammer will smash them to pieces and work anyway. I plan on taking as many of these daggers as damn possible,” she finished. Gendry studied the dagger for a while before handing it back.  
“Quality is rubbish. I’ll make you something better when I can,” he said. Lenore made a face at him.  
“If you ever have reason to make me dragonglass weapons, you’re making me two swords,” she stated, making him chuckle.  
“Dunno if dragonglass is strong enough to make weapons that big,” he said simply.  
“I use small swords. If you’re half as good as you make yourself out to be, you’ll make it work,” Lenore challenged, winked at him and left, with Sandor close thereafter.  
“Don’t fucking wink at other men,” he growled, and she giggled.   
“I knew that would get you…” she mused and smiled, taking his hand as they walked back to their cabin.


	48. Beyond the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness I actually enjoyed writing this part a lot...!

The Wall was enormous. Made of stone and ice, and Lenore didn’t know how many feet high it stretched, but it was incredibly tall. They had made it to Eastwatch, and everyone who wasn’t Jon and Davos, gawked at the Wall as they approached it. There were many stairs to climb, but they were used to that after Dragonstone. When they finally made it inside, they were greeted by a man with wild ginger hair and a bear to match. It was easy to see that he was a wildling, even though Lenore had never met a wildling before. It wasn’t the fact that his clothes looked to be made of a fifty different animal skins, it was just written all over him. His face was worn in a way Lenore imagine could only happen if it had been hardened by snow for decades. He and Jon sized each other up threateningly for a moment, before laughing and breaking into a hug.  
“This is Tormund Giantsbane,” Jon said, clapping the wildling on his back. “Tormund, these are Gendry, Ser Jorah, Lady Lenore, and the Hound.”   
“Sandor Clegane,” Sandor and Lenore corrected at the same time.   
“Sandor Clegane,” Jon adjusted. Tormund nodded at them and led them to a room and a table, where they got some warming ale. Lenore pouted and pushed her mug towards Sandor. She had never liked ale. Jon took it upon himself to explain their plan to Tormund.  
“Isn’t it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?” Tormund asked Davos when Jon finished explaining.   
“I’ve been failing at that job as of late,” Davos admitted, and Lenor smirked, thinking about how Davos had probably advised Jon not to go south to meet Daenerys.   
“How many queens are there now?” Tormund asked.  
“Two,” Jon answered. Tormund leaned forward  
“And you need to convince the one with the dragons, or the one who fucks her brother?” he asked, and Lenore forced down some ale simply to stifle her laugh. Gendry wasn’t as tactical.  
“Both,” Jon admitted.  
“How many men did you bring?” Tormund asked. As a response, Jon looked at the people around the table. Lenore half expected Tormund to say something about how women shouldn’t join, but he didn’t, and it made her respect him more.  
“Not enough,” Jon said then.  
“Big woman?” Tormund asked, and Jon chuckled, shaking his head. Tormund made a disappointed face  
“We were hoping some of your men could help,” Ser Jorah chimed in.   
“Hmm,” Tormund grunted.  
“I’ll be staying behind,” Davos said. “I’m a liability out there as you well know.” Tormund nodded.  
“You are.” To his response, Davos seemed a little offended, and looked at Jon, who just lifted his eyebrows as if saying ‘well you said it yourself’. Tormund leaned forward even more. “You really want to out there? Again?” he asked Jon. He just nodded. “You’re not the only ones,” Tormund said, and when they wondered what he meant, he took them down to the dungeons, where two familiar men sat in a cell freezing.  
“My scouts found them a mile south of the Wall. Said they were on their way here,” Tormund said sceptically. Sandor looked angry when he realised who the men were, and Lenore just stared at them. “They want to go beyond the Wall, too,” Tormund said.  
“We don’t want to go beyond the Wall, we have to,” said Beric Dondarrion. “Our lord told us that a great war is coming-”   
“Don’t trust him,” Gendry snarled. “Don’t trust any of them.” Jon looked ad Gendry who marched forward, staring into the cell angrily. “They’re the Brotherhood. And the last thing their lord told them to do was sell me to a Red witch to be murdered.”  
“Thoros?” Ser Jorah suddenly asked, recognising the drunk in the corner, huddled in his thin cape. Thoros leaned forward. “I hardly recognised you.”  
“Ser Jorah Mormont… they won’t give me anything to drink down here,” Thoros complained. Tormund turned to Jorah. “I haven’t been feeling like myself.”   
“You’re a fucking Mormont? Like the last Lord Commander?” Tormund sneered at Jorah who turned to him.  
“He was my father.”  
“He hunted us! Like animals!”  
“You returned the favour as I recall.” When Jorah said that, a low snarl came from Tormund. Not unlike the ones that could sometimes be heard from Sandor, Lenore thought.  
“Here we all are,” Beric began with a smile. “At the edge of the world. At the same moment, heading in the same direction, for the same reason…”  
“Our reasons aren’t your reasons,” Davos insisted lowly.  
“It doesn’t matter what we think our reasons are,” Beric countered and rose, walking towards the cell bars. “There’s a greater purpose at work, and we serve it together. Whether we know it or not. We may take the steps, but the Lord of Light-”  
“For fuck’s sake, will you shut your hole?” Sandor growled. “Are they coming with us or not?” he snarled at Jon and Tormund, but it was Jorah who responded.  
“Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?” he asked the men in the cell.  
“Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell waiting to die?” Thoros asked.   
“Probably,” Lenore said honestly.  
“He’s right…” Jon mumbled. “We’re all on the same side.”  
“How can we be?” Gendry asked angrily.  
“We’re all breathing,” Jon said decisively, and that was that. Tormund handed him the keys and he unlocked the cell. Thoros and Beric were allowed to come back up with the rest of them, and they ate and got new clothes. Big, furry pants and coats with lots of straps. Thick boots, none in the right size for Lenore, so she stuffed rags in them to avoid her feet slipping around. And gloves, really thick gloves. Lenore had braided her thick head of hair into several small braids that combined into a tight thick braid that hung down her back. They were all armed with dragonglass, except Beric and Thoros who declined, because fire kills wights, and their swords light on fire. All while they were getting dressed, Sandor was bickering with Beric.  
“Killed you once before, Dondarrion, happy to do it again,” Sandor muttered.  
“The lord has brought me back six times, are you sure killing me is worth it?” Beric asked, humour on his face, and Sandor grunted as a response.  
“You’re a grouchy old bear, aren’t you, Clegane?” Thoros chimed in. “Why are you always in such a foul mood?”  
“Experience. And bald cocksuckers like you,” Sandor grumbled. Thoros finished retying the thin hair on his head. “You think you’re fooling anyone with that top knot? Bald cunt…” Sandor muttered, putting his gloves on while Thoros just chuckled at him. Then, the band of Jon, Tormund, Gendry, Lenore, Sandor, Beric, Thoros, Jorah and three more wildlings, went back down and walked out north of the Wall, to track and find a wight, catch it, and bring it to King’s Landing.  
“We’re fucking idiots,” Lenore realised, but it was too late now, they were already here. In the piss cold stormy snow. Now she did mind the cold, as it whipped her in the face like lashes, and snow clouded her vision. At first, there was no talking. Everyone was busy being miserable and wading through the snow. Jon, Tormund and Gendry were in the front.  
“You alright?” Jon asked Gendry.  
“Mm..” he replied.  
“Ever been north before?”   
“Never seen snow before,” Gendry said. His hood was pulled over his face and he was probably the most miserable out of all of them.  
“Beautiful, eh?” Tormund chimed in. “I can breathe again! Down south the air smells like pig shit.”   
“You’ve never been down south,” Jon stated, as if he’d had this very conversation before.   
“I’ve been to Winterfell.”   
“That’s the north.”   
“Pfft!” Tormund made a disgruntled noise.   
“How do you live up here?” Gendry asked, his voice strained. “How do you keep your balls from freezing off?”  
“You got to keep moving, that’s the secret,” said Tormund. “Walking’s good, fighting’s better. Fucking’s best.”  
“There’s not a living woman within a hundred miles of here… that you can touch,” Jon said.  
“We have to make do with what we’ve got,” Tormund said, leaning close to Gendry, who looked like he wished he had never asked. He slowed his walking, letting Jon and Tormund walk ahead of him.  
“This one is maybe not so smart,” Tormund told Jon.   
“Davos says he’s a strong fighter.”   
“Good. That’s more important than being smart,” Tormund agreed. “Smart people don’t come up here looking for the dead. So… you met this dragon queen, uh? And?”  
“And she’ll only fight beside us if we bend the knee,” Jon said. Lenore’s ears perked up when they spoke about her sister.   
“You spent too much time with the Free Folk. Now you don’t like kneeling,” Tormund said happily. “Mance Rayder was a great man. Proud man. King beyond the Wall never bent the knee. How many of his people died because of his pride?” he finished, and Jon looked brooding. They kept walking and walking, and soon, Gendry ended up in the back with Thoros, Beric, Sandor and Lenore.  
“You still mad at us, boy?” Thoros asked. Gendry scowled at him.   
“You sold me to a witch!” he accused.  
“A priestess,” Thoros corrected. “I’ll admit, it is a subtle distinction.”  
“We’re fighting a great war. Wars cost money,” Beric chimed in.   
“I wanted to be one of you!” Gendry said, ripping his hood off in frustration. “I wanted to join the Brotherhood, but you sold me off, like a slave! Do you know what she did to me!? She strapped me down on a bed, she stripped me naked-”   
“Sounds alright so far,” Sandor muttered, and Lenore almost choked on nothing, almost stopped in her tracks, almost fainted. She stared at him in shock with her mouth open.  _ He  _ thought being strapped down sounded good!?  _ He  _ wanted be stripped naked and dominated!? Lenore closed her mouth, realising how stupid she must look.  
“And put leeches on me!” Gendry finished.  
“Was she naked too?” Sandor asked, and now Lenore had to grab Thoros’ flask and drink. He didn’t care, only spoke to Gendry.   
“She needed your blood,” he explained.   
“Yes, thank you, I know that!” Gendry yelled.  
“Could’ve been worse,” Sandor muttered, seemingly without noticing his wife in shock over his words.  
“She wanted to kill me!” Gendry shouted and stopped walking, making them all stop. Thankfully, for Lenore, who handed back the flask to Thoros. “In fact, they would’ve killed me if it wasn’t-”   
“But they didn’t, did they!?” Sandor growled, sick of Gendry riling himself up. “So what you whinging about?”  
“I’m not whinging!” Gendry insisted, looking entirely indignant. Sandor pointed his finger at Gendry’s mouth.   
“Your lips are moving, and you’re complaining about something. That’s whinging. This one’s been raped four times,” he pointed at Lenore. “This one’s been killed six times,” he pointed at Beric. “You don’t hear them bitching about it,” he muttered, and kept walking. Beric and Lenore followed, while Thoros stayed for a second, handing his flask to Gendry.   
“Good lad,” he said as Gendry drank. Lenore was about to ask Sandor something, but he answered her before the question had even left her mouth.  
“Yes I saw your fucking face. Don’t get any ideas,” he said, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hugging her to his side for a few moments before they broke apart again and kept on marching, marching, marching. Lenore listened in silence to Jon and Jorah discussing Jorah’s father, and Jon’s father, who wanted to execute Jorah for his crimes long ago.  
“I’m glad he didn’t catch you,” Jon said.  
“Me too,” Jorah agreed, and Jon smiled. The two of them stopped, and the rest kept walking. After a while, the wrapping around Sandor’s boot came undone, as he put his foot up on a rock to retie the bands, but Lenore was there before him, helping him.  
“You didn’t fucking tie them properly in the first place,” she said while lacing up the bands. He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath about her being a smug little bitch. She only laughed and continued her work. Tormund was suddenly next to them.  
“You’re the one they call the dog,” he said.   
“Fuck off,” Sandor muttered, instantly uncomfortable. Tormund gave a chuckle.  
“They told me you were mean. Were you born mean or you just hate wildlings?” he asked with humour on his face.  
“I don’t give two shits about wildlings, it’s gingers I hate,” Sandor grumbled, looking up at the red haired, bearded wildling.  
“Gingers are beautiful. We are kissed by fire. Just like you,” he said, bringing his finger up towards Sandor’s face, and he slapped it away.  
“Don’t point your fucking finger at me,” he threatened, and Lenore finished tying the bands and walked off smiling. Sandor scowled and kept walking as well, Tormund following with a grin on his face.  
“Did you trip into the fire when you were a baby?” the wildling continued pushing.  
“I didn’t trip, I was pushed,” Sandor muttered.  
“And ever since, you’ve been mean,” Tormund concluded. Lenore, who was walking a bit ahead of them, thought it was a fairly accurate analysis.  
“Will you fuck off?” Sandor half growled, half begged.  
“I don’t think you’re truly mean. You had sad eyes,” Tormund continued pestering him. Sandor stopped walking to glare at the man.  
“You want to suck my dick, is that it?” he asked, annoyed.   
“Dick?” Tormund questioned as if he’d never heard the word before.  
“Cock!” Sandor filled in his blanks.  
“Ah… Dick… I like it!” Tormund exclaimed. Sandor nodded.  
“Bet you do,” he said and kept walking. Tormund followed.  
“Nope! It’s pussy for me. She really your woman?” he asked, nodding forwards to Lenore who by now was far enough ahead of them not to hear.  
“Aye, she’s really my woman. Look at her wrong and I’ll fucking gut you,” Sandor warned. Tormund grinned.  
“Don’t worry, I’m not interested in her. I have a beauty waiting for me back at Winterfell. If I ever get back there. Yellow hair, blue eyes… Tallest woman you’ve ever seen, almost as tall as you!” Tormund exclaimed, and Sandor stopped again, turning around and staring at the wildling, hoping he had misunderstood.  
“Brienne of Tarth,” Sandor spat.  
“You know her?” Tormund asked with wide eyes.  
“You’re with Brienne of fucking Tarth?” Sandor growled. Tormund looked almost bashful.   
“Well, not  _ with  _ her  _ yet _ ,” Tormund said quietly. “But I see the way she looks at me!”  
“How does she look at you?” Sandor asked gruffly. “Like she wants to carve you up and eat your liver?”  
“You  _ do  _ know her!” Tormund exclaimed.   
“We’ve met,” Sandor muttered, remembering how the crazy bitch had bitten off part of his ear trying to steal Arya from them. They kept walking.  
“I want to make babies with her,” Tormund continued raving about Brienne. “Think of ‘em. Great big monsters! They’d conquer the world!” Sandor shook his head.   
“How did a mad fucker like you live this long?” he questioned. Tormund shrugged.  
“I’m good at killing people.” It didn’t take a lot more marching, until Thoros spotted a funny looking mountain and stopped. The mountain looked like an arrowhead.  
“That’s what I saw in the flames,” he said. “We’re getting close.”


	49. Beyond the Wall pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, been out on the countryside with my boyfriend over the Holidays. Hope everyone enjoyed their Chsirtmas and New Year, now let's welcome 2020 with some North of the Wall action!

By now there wasn’t just snow, it was a damn blizzard beating their skin. It was getting dark, and they were all walking close together to try to keep remotely warm. One of the wildlings Lenore hadn’t learned the name of was walking further ahead of them though.  
“Look,” Tormund exclaimed, pointing forward. The shadow of an animal could be seen in the distance.   
“A bear… a big fucker,” Sandor noticed.  
“Do bears have blue eyes?” Gendry asked worriedly when the creature creeped forward. It only took a few seconds before the bear was raging towards them, and the wilding fellow ran back towards the crew, but the bear came from his side, and with a roar, they both disappeared out of sight into the blizzard. Lenore gasped, grasping Sandor’s arm. Everyone drew their weapons, and Jon ran forward. Only the staff and a bloody print was left in the snow after the wilding.  
They all followed Jon, and got in position, waiting for the bear to reemerge. It came from behind, charging at another one of the wildings, picking him up with his teeth. He screamed, and couldn’t fight it off from this angle. The bear flung him around and ripped him to shreds, discarding him only when Jon charged at it from behind. Thoros and Beric’s swords went up in flame, and the bear growled, throwing Jon aside easily. Sandor was the one who ran and checked on him that he was still alive.  
Thoros and Beric, flaming swords raised high, charged at the bear, but it picked up Thoros in its mouth as well, and he screamed in agony as the bear flung him around before throwing him aside. Beric’s sword managed to hit the bear, and it went up in flames but seemed completely unfazed. It kept moving, turning its eyes to Sandor, who was frozen in place as the flaming bear charged at him. In the very last second, Lenore jumped on him with a yell, shoving him out of the way, while Thoros came from behind her, stealing the bear’s attention by shoving his sword in its mouth. They grappled and fought, Thoros on the ground and the bear trying to eat his sword.  
Tormund came charging with his giant axe, hitting the bear in its side, but he, too, was tossed aside by the bear’s claws. Lenore and Sandor couldn’t move from their place in the snow, as the bear chucked Thoros’ sword aside and attacked him. Lenore tried to charge it, but the shock kept her from even being able to rise from the ground. Then Ser Jorah came from behind them, running forward with the dragonglass dagger held tight, and one good stab was all it took for the bear to growl and drop dead. Beric and Gendry were on Thoros in a second, dragging him back to the group and yanking the clothes off to see the wound. It was gruesome and bleeding heavily. Sandor looked horrified when he saw it, not because of the blood, but because he hadn’t been able to help. Lenore felt guilty as well.  
“We have to get him back to Eastwatch,” Jorah said. Thoros shook his head.  
“Flask…” he whispered, and was immediately handed his flask, and he drank heavily. “Go on,” he said. Then Beric pressed his still flaming sword down on Thoros’ chest, burning the wound, and Sandor couldn’t watch. He turned away, and Jorah looked after him. Beric pulled Thoros’ coat back over the wound.  
“You alright?” he asked.  
“I just got bit by a dead bear,” Thoros growled.   
“Aye. You did.”   
“Funny old life,” Thoros whispered, and Beric helped him up before extinguishing his sword by putting it into the snow. They walked slower after that, but nonetheless, they walked. Lenore was biting her lip in silence the whole time, until Jon approached her.  
“You’ll bite your mouth off if you keep that up,” he half joked, half scolded. Lenore untangled her teeth and lips.  
“I was useless,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”   
“You were in shock,” Jon said kindly, and she huffed.   
“And I was useless,” she insisted. “But I know what they’re like now. If I’ve seen a dead bear, I think I can handle a dead man,” she said. Jon smiled and patted her back.  
“You can,” he declared confidently.  
After another while of walking, Tormund stopped. He held his hand up and signalled for them to listen. Then he took a few steps up on the snow covered hill, and he and Jon looked down. There, a long line of wights could be seen, walking in a row in complete silence.  
“Where’s the rest of them?” Jon whispered.  
“If we wait long enough, we’ll find out…” Tormund answered. They pulled back, and decided to lay a trap. They lit a small fire and watched the smoke travel up high, then they all hid. It didn’t take long before the line of wights, with a White Walker in front, came marching, and saw the fire. The wights seemed stupid, only went where the Walker went, seemed to see nothing. But the Walker looked around, trying to figure out who had set the fire. That’s when they all ran out from their hiding, surrounding the dead on all sides.  
Jon went for the Walker, and everyone else battled with the wights. Lenore and Sandor charged, each of them lunging after a wight. Sandor battled his with his sword, and Lenore with the dragonglass daggers. She managed to put one dagger through the eye of her own wight, then throw the other dagger in the back of the head of the one Sandor was fighting. He glared at her for a second for killing  _ his  _ dead man, then he lunged for the next. Lenore saw out the corner of her eye that one wight seemed to be choking Ser Jorah. She yanked her dagger out of the destroyed wight’s eye, and was just about to run and help Jorah, but Jon Snow put his sword through the White Walker, and with a ringing noise, it exploded into a thousand icy pieces, and so did every single wight except for one.  
The last wight was trapped in the middle of their circle. It was looking for an escape route, making its terrible screeching noises. It turned to Sandor and screeched, and he growled back, almost seeming to scare the wight, which turned in the other direction, towards Tormund. He threw his huge axe away, and the wight charged at him, but he punched it in the face and it fell to the ground. Sandor jumped on it, holding it in place with his bodyweight. It reared its head and screeched again, but Sandor put his hand over its mouth, shutting it up. His hand was sliding though, and a big piece of dead skin stuck to his hand when he raised it. With a disgusted snarl he waved it off. Tormund kept punching the creature, and Jon looked off into the distance, spotting more wights far away.  
They realised they were in a hurry, and Jorah whipped out the bag from under his coat, and secured it over the wight’s head. He, Tormund and Sandor helped tie it up, and Sandor was the one who carried it over his shoulder when they were about to run. Jon turned to Gendry.  
“Run back to Eastwatch. Get a raven to Daenerys, tell her what’s happened,” he commanded. Gendry shook his head.  
“I’m not leaving ya,” he insisted.  
“You’re the fastest! Go, now!” Jon ordered, and Gendry turned to run, but Tormund grabbed his hammer.  
“You’re faster without the hammer. Give it! Give it!” he demanded, and Gendry handed it over, very reluctantly. Tormund joined the rest of the band in running the fastest they could through the white mountains, running out into an open field. Lenore being the lightest of them all, was in front, and she panicked as the ground started cracking beneath her.  
“Stop!” Jorah shouted, but Lenore was already slipping out on the ice, unable to stop. They were on a frozen lake. The ice crackled beneath them, and finally Lenore managed to stop, holding her arms out, closing her eyes and waiting for the ice to break, but it didn’t. She opened her eyes and breathed out. In the middle of the frozen lake, there was a flat, large rock, but around it was all ice. There was no way they could make it. Behind them, though, came hundreds of wights, swarming towards them like insects.  
“GO!” Jon shouted. Lenore was the first to bolt, running, gliding over the ice, which somehow miraculously didn’t crack. The rest of of the band came after her, and every now and then she looked back to see if Sandor was still above ground. He was the heaviest of them, and even heavier from carrying the wight. The ice continued cracking under their feet as they ran, but they managed to make it up the rock just barely, and the wights were surrounding them, but that’s when the ice gave in. As the wights ran, the lake revealed itself, ice cracking open in large chunks, sinking the wights into the water. They didn’t come up again, apparently they couldn’t swim.  
Hundreds of more wights were still running, but came to a halt when they realised the first rows had drowned. The ranging band drew their weapons again, forming a circle and watching as the wights stopped all around the lake, completely unable to touch them, but also completely surrounding them. There was nowhere they could go now, and the wights were only growing in numbers. So there on the rock they stood, watching, guarding, hoping. Until the darkness fell, and they all huddled together to try to keep warm as they tried to sleep.   
Sandor was sleeping back to back with Jon Snow, with Lenore cradled in his arms like a baby. He didn’t sleep peacefully. The soldier side of him meant he woke up as soon as he heard a noise, a wight moved, or Jon snored or shifted where he sat. Lenore’s breathing had grown shallow and ragged in the cold, and Sandor wrapped both his arms and legs around her thin body to try and keep her warm. He placed a kiss on her forehead before he fell back asleep, and he didn’t wake up again until dawn.  
Jon awoke first, and the rest of the men and Sandor not long thereafter. Sandor stretched his body upright. Lenore was completely still in his arms, and for a moment his heart stopped, thinking she was dead, but then she stirred, a frown appearing on her face. She whimpered and opened her eyes, seeming dazed before remembering where they were. The captured wight lying a bit away, still growling and trying to get loose. When Lenore sat up, Sandor got up and walked over to the wight. He gave it a kick, and it screeched. That seemed to wake everyone up properly, because they flew up in an instant. Everyone except Thoros. While Sandor looked out to see the thousands of wights still standing across the lake, Beric looked at Thoros, who wasn’t moving. His face was white and he wasn’t breathing.  
“Thoros?” Beric asked. “Thoros?” His voice just a whisper, but it caught everyone’s attention, and they looked at the red priest in the snow. Sandor walked back down to them, as Beric covered Thoros’ face. Sandor knelt beside Beric.  
“They say it’s one of the better ways to go,” he said, trying to be comforting. Then he took Thoros’ flask and drank from it.   
“Lord of Light… show us the way,” Beric began. “Come to us in the darkness and lead your servant into the light,” he finished, and Sandor went to take another drink, but Jon ripped the flask from him. The glare Sandor gave Jon was deadly.  
“We have to burn his body,” Jon said and poured out the wine over Thoros.   
“We’ll all be close behind him. Unless the Lord of Light is kind enough to send us a bit of fire,” Tormund muttered. Jon threw away the flask, and Beric pulled out his sword, lighting it on fire, looking at Tormund as smugly as a man who just saw his best friend dead could. When he lowered the sword, Sandor turned away. He couldn’t look. Lenore stroked his arm reassuringly as she watched Beric burn Thoros’ body.  
“Lord of Light, come to us in the darkness. For the night is dark, and full of terrors,” he said, then extinguished his sword and walked away. Several more hours were passed, just waiting and waiting. No one was in the mood to talk. Jon and Lenore sat on the edge of the rock, Sandor was standing a bit away with Gendry’s warhammer in his hand, looking out over the sea of wights. Jorah, Tormund and Beric stood behind Jon and Lenore. Sandor, who was bored, picked up a stone from in front of him, and with a grunt he chucked it across the lake, hitting a wight in the head with it. A piece of his skull came off, but he barely moved.  
“Dumb cunt…” Sandor muttered. Jon side eyed him, and he picked up a second stone, and chucked it forward. This one didn’t reach as long, and landed on the ice. The lake had frozen again. Lenore’s eyes widened.  
“Dumb cunt!” she shrieked as she shot up. The wights had realised it as well, and the one Sandor had hit in the head began walking.  
“Oh, fuck,” Sandor exclaimed, realising his very grave mistake. As the wights walked forward, everyone stood up, grabbing their weapons. Lenore flipped the daggers in her hands and walked up next to her husband. He gave her an apologetic look and she shook her head, pointing the daggers out, ready to fight. The wights came closer and closer, and everyone raised their weapons. Sandor wielded Gendry’s hammer, Beric lit up his sword again, and Jorah pulled out both his daggers.  
Sandor got the first one, running forward and bashing it with the hammer. Lenore went for the next ones, attacking them by jumping on one, sticking it in the neck and piercing the other in the leg. One benefit with the dragonglass was that regardless of where you hit them with it, they died. They came from all sides, and everyone was quickly challenged with fighting off more than one of the dead men at once. Lenore heard Jon scream from behind her, and then she heard the clashing of swords, wights dying, she heard fire from Beric’s sword, she heard dragonglass kill another wight.  
All her thoughts and feelings left her body as she hacked and hammered her way through the wights, high and low, slicing and chopping and piercing. Sandor smashed a wight in front of him, and when it got up again, he put the hammer through the ice, making a big watery hole which the wight fell into. He growled and threw the hammer away, pulling out his dragonglass dagger and mini axe. The hammer only maimed, didn’t kill.  
The odds were impossible, Lenore knew it. There were thousands of wights, and only six of them. But that didn’t stop her. With a scream, she lunged forward, pushing her dagger through a wight’s chest, then kicking it backwards, buying herself two seconds to look around before sticking her daggers through both the wights coming at her from her sides.  
“FALL BACK!” she heard Jon’s voice distantly. “FALL BACK!” She smashed her way through wight after wight, not taking in the words being shouted, not until Sandor’s rough hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her backwards. She snapped out of her trance and they ran together back to form a circle with the rest of the band. Tormund battled with a group of wights, seeming to have it under control before one of them hit him in the head, and suddenly they were piling on him. Lenore couldn’t help, she was busy not dying herself, three wights clawing at her as she dropped one of her daggers. She faintly saw Beric’s flaming sword above her before the intensity of the wights she was fighting took off. She found the dagger again and crossed them in front of her, cutting the heads off of the two wights on top of her.  
When she got back up, the first thing she saw was Tormund’s face disappearing as he screamed in sheer panic, and she thought he was lost, but then Sandor was there, and with a growl he beat up the wights piling on Tormund. Then he grabbed the wilding’s coat and dragged him back up to the rest of the living. Jon dragged the captured wight up towards the top of the rock, and they all gathered there. On the other side of the rock, there was a temporary stop of the wight flow. But they were climbing on top of each other there, trying to make their way up.  
Exhaustion was raging in Lenore’s bones, but she kept on struggling, kept on smashing, kept screaming, fighting, helping, jumping and hacking. Pure animalistic instinct drove her. They were all going to die, and Lenore was going to go down swinging. Somewhere among all the stress, panic and anger, she felt tears stream down her cheeks, as she kept mowing her way through death. The wights came crawling up the other side of the rock now, and just as Lenore thought it was over for all of them, she heard a screech. Then, flame. Not a wight’s screech, and not the flame from Beric’s sword.  
Drogon came from the sky above them, screeching as he rained fire upon the wights. Ice exploded, wights fell all over, and it wasn’t just Drogon, it was all three of the dragons. Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion breathed fire on the fights around them, destroying them by the hundreds. Lenore laughed. Cackled, in fact. Hysterically. Sandor stared at her like she’d gone mad, but she was just so relieved, and she couldn’t stop. Wights still came at them from all sides, but before they could even get close, the massive flames engulfed them. Lenore didn’t stop laughing until she saw her sister on Drogon’s back before he landed in front of them with a screech, killing all the wights coming at him.  
Jon was first to run up to the dragon, and Daenerys reached down for his hand, and he was about to take it, but last second, he bolted again, attacking an approaching wight. Lenore, Jorah, Tormund, Beric and Sandor with the wight, all climbed on.  
“Jon!” Lenore shouted, unable to fathom what lunacy drove the bastard to keep fighting when the saviour was here. Up on the mountains stood all of the White Walkers, including the Night King. Ugly fucker, Lenore thought, but one of the Walkers was handing him a large ice spear, and Lenore shouted again after Jon to get on. She realised what the Night King was about to do, and she realised Jon was too far gone. “Daenerys, we have to go! Go, Dany, please! Go!” she shouted, with no result. “Drogon, go!” she tried, but Drogon only listened to Daenerys.  
“Jon!” Jorah shouted, but he still didn’t listen, only disappeared further away fighting wights.  
“Dany, please, go!” Lenore begged, her eyes fixed on the Night King who was walking forward, spear in hand. Drogon was still breathing fire on any incoming wights, and Lenore’s eyes searched the skies for the other two dragons. Daenerys looked after Jon, silently begging him to come back. The Night King raised his spear, and chucked it right at Viserion who was still flying in the sky burning wights.   
There was something so abrupt about it. He was still breathing fire when the spear hit him, and he screeched in agony. Lenore felt like she died on the inside as she watched blood and fire combine in the air, and the dragon she so often rode, fell from the sky, crashing through the ice, splattering blood all over as he died. Everyone watched in horror as his eyes closed and he sunk deep into the water, and Drogon cried out for his brother. Every ounce of fight Lenore had had inside her diminished as she hunched over, crying into Drogon’s back as Daenerys finally came to her senses, leaving Jon Snow behind as Drogon left the ground. The Night King was chucking another spear at them, but missed by inches, and Drogon and Rhaegal flew away, carrying them away from North of the Wall.


	50. United against the Enemy

Lenore barely recognised what was happening as the wind whipped through her. Her face was still buried in Drogon’s scales. She vaguely heard the terrified scream of someone who fell off the dragon, but it seemed someone caught him and pulled him up again. It didn’t take long until there was a thud, and movement began around her. She recognised arms around her body and suddenly the comfort of the black and red scales was gone, and for a second she thought she was the one who had fallen, but then the comfort of Sandor’s familiar scent brought her back to reality. With a sharp intake of breath, Lenore ripped free from Sandor who was carrying her, and regained her balance on the snow covered ground.  
“Where is she?” Lenore demanded shakily.  
“Lenore-”  
“Where’s my sister, I need to speak with her!” Her voice cracked as the image of the falling dragon seared into her brain.  
“Up there,” Sandor said, pointing up to the top of the wall, where Lenore could make out Daenerys’ silver hair and white winter coat. It seemed Drogon had dropped them at the bottom at the wall and then flown Daenerys and Jorah back up. Beric, Tormund and Sandor were already readying the boats. Lenore simply stood and watched, heart ripped out of her chest. She felt empty as she watched the men bustle around her. Sandor had already dumped the wight into the boat, and he nodded at Tormund, who nodded back.  
“We’ll meet again, Clegane,” Beric said, a smile on his face.  
“Fucking hope not,” Sandor muttered back. Beric chuckled, then turned to Lenore.  
“This was the first of your heartbreaks, Lenore,” he said calmly. It seemed he tried to sound comforting, but Lenore just looked at him coldly for a few moments. She turned away before he could see the tears burning behind her eyes.  _ The first of your heartbreaks.  _ She followed her husband as he got into the boat.  _ All you wish for is a peaceful life with a gentle giant. And you will have what you wish for. But first you must face a great number of pains. You will face heartbreak and betrayal, but you will have what you want most.  _ She remembered every word of the Red Woman’s prophecy, and while Sandor rowed, she prayed. Prayed it was false, prayed there would be no more pain.  
She lost track of time and it seemed like both seconds and hours later when Sandor nudged her in the side, telling her to climb the rope ladder up on the Targaryen ship. She opened her eyes and did as she was told, climbing on board the anchored ship. For how long they were anchored, Lenore didn’t know. But after some time, Sandor pushed a mug of something hot into her shaking hands. She looked up at him tentatively.  
“Some sort of flower tea, I don’t remember what she said it was,” he muttered, sitting down beside her on the padded bench inside the ship. The strong scent of the tea seemed to calm her senses some.  
“You don’t know how lavender smells?” she asked, knotting her eyebrows together and letting the herbal tea burn away her feelings. Sandor shrugged. “It smells like this,” Lenore mumbled and pointed at the tea.  
“Just drink it. Maid said it would be good for the shock,” Sandor said.  
“I’m not in shock…” Lenore muttered, but drank.  
It seemed like hours later when the ship left the harbour. Daenerys was back on the ship, and apparently so was Jon Snow. She had been waiting for him to return to Eastwatch. She had almost given up waiting when a dark horse had led the frozen, almost dead Jon Snow back to the Wall. No one knew how he had managed to escape the wights, he had been in too rough of a condition to tell them. Lenore knew which cabin he was in, and she knew Daenerys was in there too, so she waited outside. Soon, Daenerys walked out, and closed the door behind her. She stopped when she saw Lenore sitting outside.  
“Why is he still here?” Lenore asked. Whatever Daenerys had expected to hear from her sister, this wasn’t it. Her teary eyes turned angry.  
“What do you mean?” she asked, sounding like she was gritting her teeth.  
“You should have left him beyond the Wall, you should have gone the second he decided not to get on Drogon, and you shouldn’t have waited for him to come back after, you should’ve gone!” Lenore yelled, and Daenerys grabbed her arm, dragging her away from right outside Jon’s door. She didn’t want him to hear this.  
“I thought you liked him! You vouched for him, you wanted me to grant him the North's independence, you-  
“That was then!” Lenore snarled. “And I didn’t vouch for him, I said he was honorable. That’s not always a good thing. He’s a liability!”  
“Stop it! Lany, do you have any idea what he’s gone through? Ser Davos wasn’t exaggerating when he said Jon took a knife in the heart for his people. I saw it. I saw all the scars. And now he’s pledged himself to my cause, he’s bent the knee.” Lenore took a step back.  
“What did you promise him to make him do that?” she asked coldly.  
“Nothing!”   
“Daenerys!”   
“I told him we would destroy the Night King and his army together,” Daenerys admitted. “But it wasn’t  _ for  _ him! The Night King killed my dragon!”   
“Jon killed your dragon,” Lenore snarled, not fully believing her own words, but she spat them out nonetheless. Daenerys looked hurt, and Lenore bit her lip to avoid saying something she would regret.  
“We’re heading to King’s Landing now, Laenerys. We can’t be fighting among ourselves. Cersei is the threat now, it’s her we need to hate. Not each other,” Daenerys pleaded, and Lenore sighed, but nodded.  
“Glad you came and saved us… we’d have been pretty dead if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”   
“You would have been,” Daenerys agreed.  
“I’m sorry,” Lenore said, stroking her sister’s arm. They walked together up on deck, and Lenore enjoyed the crisp air compared to the lashing snow.  
“What were they like, up close?” Daenerys asked. Lenore was silent for a while, thinking.  
“The worst thing I’ve ever faced. By the end of it I didn’t even know what I was doing. I knew we were all going to die, so I just… fought death for as long as I could. They’re cold. Hard. And thankfully stupid,” she finished. Daenerys swallowed and nodded.  
“We’re going to destroy them, and then we’re going to destroy Cersei,” she said, determined, as the two surviving dragons roared from above them.  
Lenore slept all night and throughout half of next day as well. She woke up expecting to be alone in the cabin, but the first thing she saw was Sandor sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning against the wall while reading a book. She crawled under the covers and up to him, wrapping the blanket around the both of them as she curled into his side. He pressed a kiss to her head as he wrapped an arm around her before turning the page in his book. They sat like that for hours, neither of them feeling like talking to anyone else.  
A servant came in once and set food on their table. Lenore mumbled a thank you, and when her belly rumbled, she untangled herself from Sandor and explored what was on the table. Bread, cheese, bacon and some fruits. She gathered up an adequate meal for the both of them and returned to the bed. Sandor set the book aside.  
“I’m not hungry,” he said calmly.  
“You’re always hungry,” Lenore argued, furrowing her eyebrows. In her shock and sorrow it hadn’t even occurred to her how Sandor might be feeling, and the realisation felt like a sinking rock inside her. “Are you alright?” she asked softly. Sandor looked at her fondly.  
“Yes, little lady, I’m alright. I already ate when you slept,” he explained, and Lenore felt relieved.  
“Oh,” she said, and proceeded to try to finish the whole plate herself.  
Sandor seemed quite amused when Lenore was done with half the plate and picked up tiny pieces of bread at a time, forcing them into her mouth.  
“You know she won’t come back and take the food away, right? You don’t have to eat it all at once,” Sandor said with a chuckle. Lenore ate one last grape before she set the plate aside.  
“I don’t want to face Cersei again,” she said after a while.  
“I’ll protect you,” Sandor said jokingly.  
“I can protect myself,” Lenore muttered, but she still looked miserable.  
“Come here,” Sandor said, ushering Lenore onto his lap where he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her forehead. He gently guided her to rest her head on his chest, and he in turn laid his cheek on her head, taking in the scent of her hair.  
“I hate her more than anything,” Lenore mumbled into Sandor’s tunic as he rubbed her back.  
“I know you do. That’s why you’ll kill her. Not now, but soon enough.” The words were said in consolation, but Lenore didn’t feel consoled.  
“I have to make water…” she mumbled and moved away from her husband, slipping into the room with the chamber pot. When she got all her clothes out of the way, she noticed something.  
“Oh come on, it’s way too early…” she muttered to herself as her moonblood had appeared. She groaned and rummaged through the trunk that someone had packed for her. Whoever had packed it had been female enough to pack a bunch of wool rags. She was thankful for it, and then thought no more of the situation as she went back out, once again curling up next to her husband.  
“What are you even reading?” she asked him, and he shrugged.   
“I don’t fucking know, I never read books. It was on the table. But it has dragons, and they’re burning people to crisps. You’d like it,” he said, giving Lenore a kiss before returning to the story.


	51. The Dragonpit

Most of the trip had passed, and Lenore’s bleeding had taken off after only two days. On the sea, their single ship met up with the four Greyjoy ships that came from Dragonstone. They carried Theon and his band of Ironborn, and they carried Tyrion, Varys and Missandei. They all got on the same ship eventually as they began plotting. The Unsullied were already at the gates of King’s Landing, where they had gone from Casterly Rock. The Dothraki were on their way there as well, having been carried by ship from Dragonstone. They would surround the capital, making sure that if anyone from Daenerys’ group was harmed, Cersei would regret it. Daenerys would fly Drogon to the meeting, and the rest of them would walk. They knew they would be greeted and welcomed at the gates, as was the deal Tyrion had gotten Jaime to make them.  
In Lenore’s trunk, the one she hadn’t packed herself, was a deep Targaryen red gown with bell sleeves, and a golden piece of armour shaped like a dragon. Lenore smiled when she picked it up, remembering she’d had it made a while back for an occasion just like this, where she would represent her house and look her best.

She put it on, and Missandei did her hair.  
“Our queen insisted that dress be packed for you,” Missandei said while braiding.  
“Daenerys did?” Lenore asked, confused.  
“Yes, while she was getting ready to come after you. She said you would want to wear it in King’s Landing.”  
“She was right,” Lenore said and chuckled. Missandei finished off the braids, a style very similar to the one Daenerys wore. Then they switched seats, and Lenore did Missandei’s hair the way she usually wore it. In the meanwhile, Missandei told her everything that had happened between her and Grey Worm before he left for the Rock. Apparently you didn’t need a cock to fully satisfy a woman.  
“I’m happy for the both of you,” Lenore said with a smile when Missandei finished telling. She smiled coyly back.  
“Thank you for the hairdo. You’re wonderfully talented.” Missandei smiled back and they walked up on deck where they found Jorah, Davos, Varys, Theon, Tyrion and Jon. Jon looked quite regal in the heavy fur he wore over his shoulders, even though the capital was too warm for it. Missandei walked over to Ser Jorah, and Lenore to Jon, Davos and Tyrion. They could see the red keep from here, and they could see the many Greyjoy ships led by Euron.  
“How many people live here?” Jon asked.  
“A million, give or take,” Tyrion responded, as they all looked out over the capital.  
“That’s more people than the entire North, crammed into _ that _ ,” Jon said. “Why would anyone wanna live that way?” he asked. Lenore couldn’t help glaring at him. She hadn’t spoken a word to him during the whole trip. She hadn’t come to see him when he was wounded in his cabin, and not even when he recovered had she accepted his attempts to make conversation with her.  
“There’s more work in the city. And the brothels are far superior,” Tyrion said. Lenore raised her eyebrows.  
“Weren’t you the one who said there’s nothing like a Northern girl, when you returned from Winterfell?” she questioned. Tyrion gave her a scolding look, and Jon chuckled.  
They sailed past the anchored Greyjoy ships and into the harbour from which Lenore had once thought she would escape. The company climbed off the ship and onto the pavement before they began making their way towards the dragonpit where the meeting was to take place. Sandor, who had been down checking on the wight, now rejoined the company. He was wearing the armour which Lenore had had made for him, and under it he wore a beaded grey jacket and chainmail.  
“You look so pretty,” Lenore joked and took his hand.  
“Look at yourself, if we weren’t walking towards our possible death, I’d stop and take you right here,” he said back and barked at her, making her giggle. Then he was handed the reins of the donkey which carried the wooden box where the wight was locked in. They kept walking up into the capital, and through the green garden towards the dragonpit. Ser Jorah was telling Missandei why they built it, and Tyrion and Davos mused over if it was still the most dangerous part of the world. That’s when they saw another company coming towards them. Several Lannister soldiers, and at the front of them, Bronn.   
“I hoped this smug cunt would have died…” Sandor muttered to Lenore, who stifled a chuckle.  
“Welcome, my lords!” Bronn greeted. The Dothraki men escorting the Targaryen company looked unimpressed with the welcoming party. “Your friends arrived before you did,” Bronn continued, and pointed to- Lenore barely believed her eyes and she was filled with an unfinished rage. Brienne of Tarth and her squire Podrick Payne were in the crowd. Lenore fought the urge to lounge forward and rip them apart. Sandor didn’t look too happy to see them either. But Brienne’s face was the one with the most surprise on it, and it stilled Lenore’s rage a bit.  
With a wave of his hand, Bronn signalled to the Lannister soldiers to make a path for the company to walk through. They did, and the Dothraki walked first, leading them forward. Sandor and Lenore walked past Tyrion and Podrick, who had stopped to talk to each other. They were long lost friends after all.  
“Come on! You can suck his magic cock later,” she heard Bronn urge the men, and they kept walking. Sandor led the donkey carrying the concealed wight, and one of the Lannister soldiers seemed very curious.  
“What’s in there?” he asked Sandor, who turned his face and glared at him.  
“Fuck off,” was the reply the young soldier got. In front of them, Brienne stopped, letting them catch up with her before she kept moving.  
“Thought you were dead,” she said to Sandor.  
“Not yet,” he responded simply. Lenore balled her fists up to keep calm. How could _ he _ keep so calm? It was him she had almost killed, after all. “You came pretty close…” he muttered to the blonde woman.   
“I was only trying to protect her,” Brienne continued.  
“You and me both,” Sandor said, sounding completely sincere.  
“She’s alive. Arya,” Brienne told them.  
“I know. Back in Winterfell where she belongs,” Sandor replied, already having heard it from Jon Snow when he received the raven. “Who’s protecting her if you’re here?”  
“The only one who needs protecting is the one who gets in her way,” Brienne scoffed, and Lenore smiled proudly. _ That’s my girl _ , she thought.  
“Won’t be me,” Sandor said actually gave Brienne the tiniest of smiles. He was proud of Arya, she could tell. Lenore spoke for the first time.  
“You tried to kill Sandor the last time you saw him,” she said, and Brienne turned her focus to Lenore.  
“Like I said, I was only trying to protect Arya. Perhaps I was a bit rash in assuming you weren’t,” she admitted.  
“Is it true you helped Sansa get back safely to Jon?” Lenore asked.  
“It is,” she said stiffly. She could sense Lenore’s anger, but it was taking off by now. She nodded, a silent sign of forgiving Brienne for the last encounter, and the blonde woman smiled.  
Soon, they had made it to the dragon pit. It was an enormous arena not unlike the great pit of Daznak in Meereen, but this used to have a stone roof, that had been blown to bits by dragonfire. Lenore smiled at the thought that a dragon was now returning to it, free. Sandor handed the rein for the donkey to a Lannister soldier and looked back at them.  
“Anyone touches it, I’ll kill you first,” he threatened, and the young men looked like they were going to shit their pants. People were afraid of the Hound, Lenore was reminded. The company walked into the dragonpit, unease spreading among them all. It was covered in Lannister banners, and in the middle, there had been chairs and tents set up for them. Everyone found a place, but no one sat down. Bronn took Podrick aside and they left the arena, Bronn saying something about letting the fancy folk speak alone. Tyrion stood in the middle of the platform, and Sandor left Lenore’s side to go speak to him.  
“I left this shit city because I didn’t want to die in it. Am I going to die in this shit city?” he asked bitterly.  
“You might,” Tyrion said honestly.  
“And this is all your idea,” Sandor scolded. “Seems every bad idea has some Lannister cunt behind it...”  
“And some Clegane cunt to help them see it through,” Tyrion sassed, and then they heard footsteps. Cersei Lannister in a grey and black gown came walking. She looked different than when Lenore last saw her. She had aged with stress, and her long luscious hair had been cut very short. Next to her walked a man even bigger than Sandor. Lenore’s blood froze when she saw him. She hadn’t seen him since the Hand’s tourney six years ago, but she would know him anywhere. The man who murdered her handmaiden and best friend, the man who pressed Sandor’s face into the fire as a child. Gregor Clegane. In black and silver Kingsguard’s armour. Cersei had redesigned the armour from the golden flowery one Lenore had known, to this dark and somber design.  
Sandor and Tyrion walked back to their seats, and Lenore tried to identify the others walking towards them. Several more kingsguard members, but she didn’t see Meryn Trant anywhere. A small man in a dark maester’s cloak walked next to Cersei. He was wearing the same brooch as Tyrion, the one that meant he was Hand of the Queen. Behind him was a rather handsome, but insane looking man dressed all in leather. He looked cocky and mad, and Lenore could only assume it was Euron Greyjoy. And of course there was Jaime Lannister, back in his red and gold armour. Lenore wished Rhaegal would have devoured him. Her hatred for all of them grew with every step they took towards them.  
The look Cersei gave Tyrion when she walked past him was one of extreme disgust, and when she saw Lenore in her regal dress and silver hair, her frown grew even more. Lenore smirked at the bitch queen, and imagined how it would feel to take her head off with her swords. Theon shared a look with the handsome madman which confirmed Lenore’s suspicions that he was Euron. After Cersei, her hand and Jaime took their seats, so did the Targaryen company. All except Sandor, who with determined steps walked forward. Lenore hissed at him to get back, but he marched up to the Mountain and looked him in his blood red eyes. Everyone’s eyes were on him and Lenore held her breath, anxiety overtaking her.  
What if the Mountain decided to cut his head off right now? He was a shell of his human self after what they had done to him, what’s to say he couldn’t act rash? Lenore kept her eyes on Sandor and her hand on her sword as she watched what happened. Sandor stopped in front of Gregor, who took a step forward. For a moment there was nothing but silence as everyone waited.  
“Remember me?” Sandor asked, voice low. “Yeah, you do,” he said when the Mountain didn’t answer. “You’re even fucking uglier than I am now,” he muttered, looking at his big brother’s grey skin and bloodshot eyes. “What did they do to you?” he asked, and for a second he sounded genuinely concerned, but only for a second. “Doesn’t matter. That’s not how it ends for you, brother. You know who’s coming for you. You’ve always known,” Sandor spat, then walked back, down the stairs into the dungeon. Lenore was trying her best not to tremble. He still wanted revenge against his brother. They had been so happy that Lenore had forgotten about the Mountain. She had forgotten the years Sandor had spent being driven by nothing but hate and the idea of revenge against his brother. She had thought he might have put that idea aside now that he had something else to live for, but apparently he hadn’t, and it terrified her. She was snapped out of her thoughts by a voice she hoped never to hear again.  
“Where is she?” Cersei asked. She was obviously displeased that Daenerys wasn’t here yet.  
“She’ll be here soon,” Tyrion assured.  
“Didn’t travel with you?” Cersei asked. Tyrion shook his head.  
“No,” he confirmed, and Cersei looked even more annoyed. She looked around. She looked to Brienne, who looked at Jaime, who looked down. Then he looked at Cersei, and Cersei looked at him. Then they heard a screech, one that made Lenore smirk slightly.  
Jaime, seemingly traumatised by his last encounter with a dragon, shot out of his seat and stared into the sky. Lenore’s smirk grew. Cersei tried her best not to look impressed as the screech grew louder. Now, everyone except Cersei stood and watched as Drogon soared around the arena, with Rhaegal a bit behind him. Lannister soldiers scurried, and sand flew everywhere as Drogon landed, with another loud shriek. He walked down the steps and lowered his wing to the ground, allowing Daenerys to climb off of him. Euron Greyjoy looked impressed, and for a moment Lenore wished he would have made it to Meereen before Theon and Yara. Something told her he would have been a stronger ally. Far less trustworthy, but far more dangerous.  
Drogon took off, and Daenerys walked forward calmly, through the arena, up the steps onto the platform, then she took her seat next to Tyrion. Cersei’s face when she saw this young, beautiful queen come forward gave Lenore an immense amount of pleasure. Everyone sat down again after Daenerys’ had taken her seat. She looked at Cersei.  
“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.  
“My apologies,” was the only response she got, and it angered her, which she failed to try to hide. Daenerys looked at Tyrion and nodded. He got up and did what he did best; talked.  
“We are all facing a unique-”  
“Theon!” Euron called out. Lenore instantly hated him. He had waited all this time to interrupt, just to be a cunt. Tyrion stopped and looked at the madman. “I have your sister,” Euron continued. “If you don’t submit to me here and now, I’ll kill her,” he said, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Theon looked constipated, trying to hold everything he wanted to do inside him. Tyrion and Jaime shared a look.  
“I think we ought to begin with larger concerns…” Tyrion said, bringing the attention back to himself.  
“Then why are you talking? You’re the smallest concern here,” Euron said with a smug and stood up. Tyrion looked at Theon.  
“Do you remember when we discussed dwarf jokes?” he asked.  
“His wasn’t even good,” Theon said.  
“He explained it at the end, never explain it, always ruins it,” Tyrion went on.  
“We don’t even let your kind live, on the Iron Islands, y’know,” Euron said, leaning in towards Tyrion a bit. “We kill you at birth. An act of mercy for the parents.”  
“Perhaps you ought to sit down,” Jaime called loudly from his seat.  
“Why?” Euron questioned. _  
_ "Because you’re a rude, uncivilised cunt who can’t behave," Lenore muttered quietly enough for Ser Jorah to hear.  
“Sit down, or leave,” Cersei ordered. The Mountain took a threatening step forward. Euron scoffed and returned to his seat. Tyrion continued, speaking mainly to Cersei.  
“We are a group of people, who do not like one another, a this recent demonstration has shown. We have suffered at each other’s hands, we have lost people we love, at each other’s hands. If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no need for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war against each other without meeting face to face.”   
“So instead we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days?” Cersei asked sarcastically.  
“We all know that will never happen,” said Tyrion honestly.   
“Then why are we here?” Cersei asked through gritted teeth. She truly had grown into a bitter bitch, Lenore mused to herself. Jon stood up and walked forward.  
“This isn’t about living in harmony,” he began. “It’s just about living. The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you can’t negotiate with, an army that doesn’t leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me a million people live in this city. They’re about to become a million more soldiers in the army of the dead,” Jon finished, and Cersei’s reaction was exactly what Lenore had expected.  
“I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement,” Cersei said, so famously rude and condescending. Jon looked perplexed at this demonstration from Cersei. Of course he did, he didn’t know her. In his world, everyone believed the White Walkers were real, and everyone wanted to do their best to help fights them. Cersei smiled, and Jon took a few angry steps forward.  
“This is serious,” he said, and Lenore almost laughed at his foolishness. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.”  
“I don’t think it’s serious at all, I think it’s another bad joke,” Cersei answered. “If my brother Jaime has informed me correctly, you’re asking me for a truce?”  
“Yes,” Daenerys said. “That’s all.”  
“That’s all?” Cersei echoed, not believing it. She leaned forward. “Pull back my armies and stand down while you go on your monster hunt? _ Or _ while you solidify and expand your position? Hard for me to know which it is, with my armies pulled back, until you return and march on my capital with four times the men,” she snarled.   
“Your capital will be safe, until the Northern threat is dealt with,” Daenerys assured, albeit coldly. “You have my word.”  
“The word of a would be usurper,” Cersei added, and Tyrion cut her off.  
“There is no conversation that will erase the last fifty years!” he began. “We have something to show you.” Heavy, heavy steps came up the stairs from the dungeon. Lenore licked her lips when her husband came walking up the steps, lugging the big, heavy box with the wight inside. He carried the wooden crate on his back through two leather straps. He was so strong… Lenore had to pinch her hand to stop her thoughts from trailing away. Then Sandor bent backwards and knelt, setting the box down. Cersei looked unimpressed as Sandor pulled out the bolts from the box, pushing the lid off and taking a few steps back.  
When nothing happened, he walked forward again. For a second, Lenore worried the wight had disintegrated during the travels and this whole trip was useless. But with the hand on the hilt of his sword, and with a grunt, Sandor kicked the box over, and from it sprung the chained wights, running straight towards Cersei with a terrible screech. Jaime went wide eyed, Cersei looked terrified, scared for her life as the wight charged at her, and Sandor yanked it back by its chain at the last second. The wight fell on his back and continued screeching.  
Jaime shot up again, walking forwards and staring at the wight, that crawled up and looked ready to attack someone. Even the Mountain seemed uncomfortable, shifting his huge body around ready to protect his queen. The wight kept shrieking as it charged at Sandor, who pulled out his sword and chopped the wight clean in half. It stilled for a moment before shrieking shrilly again and crawling towards him. When it reached for him, he cut its arm off with another chop of his sword. Lenore was ready to throw herself at him on the spot.  
Cersei’s Hand stood up and walked towards the wight, picking up the arm and observing it with great fascination. Cersei stared at the struggling wight. Jon came forward and was handed the hand from the Hand. Davos gave him a torch which he lit for him. Jon put the flame to the wight’s arm, and demonstrated its destruction.  
“We can destroy them by burning them,” he said, watching the arm burn before he tossed it on the ground. “And we can destroy them with dragonglass,” Jon continued, pulling out a black dagger. “If we don’t win this fight, then that is the fate of every person in the world,” he said, pointing towards the wight. He grabbed it by its still intact arm, lifted it up and stabbed it with the dragonglass dagger. It screeched loudly before it got quiet and fell, still. Jon walked forward to the shaken up Cersei. “There is only one war that matters. The great war. And it is here.” Cersei took a deep breath and looked at Jaime.  
“I didn’t believe it until I saw them,” Daenerys said. “I saw them all.”  
“How many?” Jaime asked. He was the only one who sounded sincere out of all of them.  
“Hundred thousand at least,” Dany told him, and his eyes widened. Even Euron Greyjoy looked afraid, and he stood up, walking forward to inspect the destroyed wight.  
“Can they swim?” he asked.  
“No,” Jon said.  
“Good,” Euron muttered and stood back up. “I’m taking the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands,” he informed Cersei, who fidgeted with her fingers on the chair like Joffrey used to do.  
“What are you talking about?” she asked. Lenore knew how to spot a lie from her, and this was a lie. She was trying to play them. This was a setup.  
“I’ve been around the world,” Euron began. “I’ve seen everything, things you couldn’t imagine, and this… this is the only thing I’ve ever seen that terrifies me,” he said. Lenore wished it was true, she wished Euron Greyjoy was more of a coward than she, a mere girl of twenty, was, but unfortunately she didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. But now was not the time to bring that up. Euron walked over to Daenerys, the the Dothraki behind her began to move, ready to kill if need be.  
“I’m going back to my island. You should go back to yours. When winter’s over, we’ll be the only ones left alive,” he said, almost seductively, to Daenerys, who didn’t look impressed. _ Romantic proposal, _ Lenore thought to herself. Euron Greyjoy walked away.  
“He’s right to be afraid,” Cersei said, and if Lenore wasn’t sure they were bluffing before, she knew it now. Cersei would be outraged at the loss of this ally, she wouldn’t be calm and forgiving, she would be mocking him as a rotten coward for all to hear. “And a coward to run,” she added, but Lenore still didn’t buy it. She was too calm and nice. “If those things come for us, there’ll be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we suffered will have been for nothing. Everything we lost, would have been for nothing. The crown accepts your truce. Until the dead are defeated, they are the true enemy,” Cersei finished, and everyone seemed surprised or relieved. Jon Snow exhaled, Davos sighed in relief, and Tyrion looked perplexed.  
“And in return?” Lenore demanded, knowing Cersei would never agree to this as easy. Everyone looked at her surprised, but Cersei answered coolly like Lenore knew she would.  
“In return, the King in the North will extend this truce.” Lenore knew their plan was fucked with those words, if she was right about Jon Snow. Right now she prayed she was wrong. Jon and Dany looked at Cersei, who continued. “He will remain in the North where he belongs. He will not take up arms against the Lannisters, he will not choose sides.”  
“Just the King in the North? Not me?” Daenerys asked. Cersei chuckled.  
“I would never ask it of you. You would never agree to it, and if you did, I would trust you even less than I do now. I ask it only of Ned Stark’s son. I know Ned Stark’s son will be true to his word,” Cersei said, and Lenore shut her eyes. She knew that too, and that’s why she prayed she was wrong. _ Don’t be honorable, don’t be your father, _ she begged. Jon was quiet, looking at his advisor, Davos. Then he looked at Daenerys. And finally at Cersei.  
“I am true to my word,” he said. Lenore was already fuming. “Or I try to be. That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two queens. And I have already pledged myself to queen Daenerys of house Targaryen,” Jon said. Cersei’s expression changed, as did Tyrion’s. He didn’t know. No one had told him. Daenerys’ eyes were wide. Lenore’s look could kill.  
“Then there is nothing left to discuss,” Cersei told them and rose from her seat. “The dead will come North first, enjoy dealing with them. We will deal with whatever is left of you.” And with that, she, her Hand, Jaime, the Mountain and the rest of the kingsguard left the arena, with Brienne after them trying to reason with Jaime, but she stopped when she seemed to fail.


	52. Honour

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Lenore screamed as soon as Cersei’s company had left. She ran at the Northern bastard and was fully ready to jump at him and tackle him to the ground and beat him up, but Sandor had run after her and grabbed her around the waist. He picked her up as she struggled and screamed. “You honorable bloody oaf, do you realise what you’ve- HNNGH-” she shrieked as Sandor covered her mouth, and he carried her away to the edge of the platform.  
“Just shut the fuck up for a second,” he whisper-screamed at her as he set her down, without removing his hand from her mouth. She crossed her arms and glared at him, but piped down, and he removed his hand. She huffed angrily.  
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Davos said to Jon, who sighed. Daenerys came walking up to him.  
“I’m grateful for your loyalty, but my dragon died so that we could be here,” she told him. “If it’s all for nothing, then he died for nothing,” she said. Jon looked pained.  
“I know,” he struggled to say.  
“I’m pleased you bent the knee to our queen,” Tyrion said suddenly and turned towards them. “I would have advised it, had you asked. But have you ever considered learning how to lie, every now and then? Just a bit!?” He was angry too. Jon turned around to face him.  
“I’m not gonna swear an oath I can’t uphold!” he insisted. “Talk about my father if you want, tell me that’s the attitude that got him killed-”  
“THAT’S THE ATTITUDE THAT GOT HIM K-” Lenore shouted, but Sandor snarled and put his hand over her mouth again, this time from behind. Jon glared at her before continuing.  
“But when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything!” Jon kept going. “Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies. And lies won’t help us in this fight!”  
“That is indeed a problem. The more immediate problem, is that we’re fucked,” Tyrion said.  
“Any ideas as to how we might change that state of affairs?” Davos asked. Tyrion sighed and looked around.  
“Only one. Everyone stays here. And I go and talk to my sister,” he said, and Daenerys walked up to him.  
“I didn’t come all this way, to have my Hand murdered,” she said harshly.   
“I don’t want Cersei to murder me either, I could have stayed in my cell and saved myself a great deal of trouble…”  
“I did this. I should go,” Jon muttered from behind them.  
“She’ll definitely murder you,” Tyrion snarked. “I go see my sister alone. Or we all go home, and we’re right back where we started.” Daenerys pondered it for a while before she nodded, giving Tyrion her permission, and he walked off. Lenore shrugged Sandor’s hand off of her mouth and marched up to her sister, grabbing her arms and pulling her aside, all the way off the platform and away into a corner of the stand.  
“Do you believe me now?” she snarled.  
“I...” Daenerys began, but her words got lost in her mouth.  
“He’s a liability!” Lenore insisted. “He got Viserion killed, now he ruined any chance of a deal with Cersei! He’s too bloody honorable, all of them, all the Stark men are!” She remembered how Ned Stark died, honourable and trusting into his final hours. How many people had died because of it? “That’s why they die! That’s why they get others killed! They’re a liability!” she kept shouting, then she sighed and ran her hand across over her face, looking at her mournful sister. “But it’s too late, isn’t it?” she asked, softer now. “You love him. How could you not? Don’t get us killed because of it,” she said, before walking back to the platform, leaving the stumped Daenerys there to think about her choices.  
They all waited for Tyrion to return, or for someone to return with his head. Daenerys and Jon were hidden away in a corner talking to each other. Jorah, Sandor and Lenore were openly voicing their disdain for the Lannisters.  
“Whatever else she is, she’s strategic,” Jorah said about Cersei. Lenore nodded.  
“I don’t believe Euron truly deserted her. We need to keep our eyes open,” she told them.  
“Heard stories about him. None of what I’ve heard supports the idea that he’d run from this. Backs your idea, rather,” Sandor agreed, and she nodded again. Jorah straightened his back and looked away, seeing Tyrion coming towards them again. Lenore noticed too and shot up. Everyone returned to the platform as Tyrion came forward, with Cersei and her company not long behind him. Tyrion rejoined them on the platform, and Cersei marched up on it as well, standing in front of them with her guards behind her.  
“My armies will not stand down,” she said. “I will not pull them back to the capital. I will march them North to fight alongside you in the great war.” Jon glanced at Tyrion, who looked quite pleased. Lenore still donned a frown on her face and her hands were on the hilts of her swords. “The darkness is coming for us all. We’ll face it together. And when the great war is over, perhaps you’ll remember I chose to help. With no promises or assurances from any of you. I expect not,” Cersei said, then turned to her men. “Call our banners. All of them.” And with that, she turned on her heel and marched away again with her guards at her back.  
Daenerys, Jon, Tyrion and rest of them seemed relieved. Only Lenore was still skeptical. She found it was best to never trust a word out of Cersei’s mouth unless it was a death threat. And so with that, the time came to return to Dragonstone. They were escorted out of the Dragonpit and back to the harbour where they boarded their ships again. The ride from King’s Landing to Dragonstone was not long, and it didn’t take many days until they were back in the map room, planning. Jon Snow was the one doing the pointing and talking.  
“If we have the Dothraki ride hard on the Kingsroad, they’ll arrive at Winterfell within a fortnight,” he said.  
“And the Unsullied?” Daenerys asked.  
“We can sail with them to White Harbour, meet the Dothraki here on the Kingsroad, then ride together, to Winterfell,” he said, and Daenerys looked positively pleased. Jorah looked slightly worried.  
“Perhaps you should fly to Winterfell, your Grace,” he chimed in. “You have many enemies in the North. Thousands fell fighting your father. All it takes is one angry man with a crossbow. He’ll see your silver hair on the Kingsroad and know that one well placed bolt will make him a hero. The man who killed the conqueror.” He could very well be right, Daenerys knew it, and she pondered her options.  
“It’s your decision, your Grace,” Jon said. “But, if we’re gonna be allies in this war, it’s important for the Northerners to see us as allies. If we sail to White Harbour together, I think it sends a better message.” Looks were exchanged throughout the room. Sandor stood between Lenore and Jon as a shield in case he said something that would make her go off. She hadn’t said a word to him since the meeting.  
“I’ve not come to conquer the North,” Daenerys spoke softly with her hands clasped together. “I’m coming to save the North. We sail together,” she told Jon, and he nodded. The way Ser Jorah looked at Jon was heartbreaking. He knew his queen loved this man, and he knew this man loved his queen. There was nothing he could do about it, and even if there was, he was too good to do it. It was tragic, Lenore thought.  
After the council meeting, they packed and got ready. No one knew how long they would be up North, so they better pack a lot, Lenore thought. And that very same night, they were off, on a single Targaryen ship. Theon Greyjoy had deserted, having gotten permission to go rescue his sister from Euron. Lenore had watched from the cliff as Theon convinced his Ironborn to come with him. They didn’t seem up to the task, and he had almost been beaten to death for it, but he’d made a strong comeback, killing the Ironborn who protested, and the rest of them had agreed to follow him. They weren’t unlike the Dothraki, Lenore had mused. Following the strong, needing their leader to prove themselves before following them.  
Before leaving, Lenore had also fastened the leather saddle on Rhaegal’s neck. It was too big to be packed anywhere, and it took up too much space on the boat, so Rhaegal would have to carry it. He and Drogon followed the ship gladly as they sailed over the sea, heading North again.  
“Cersei’s pregnant,” Tyrion informed Lenore as they dined together. She wasn’t surprised.  
“Jaime’s?” she asked.  
“Whose would it be otherwise?” Tyrion snarked and sipped his wine. “It’s made her soft. It’s why-”  
“Why you trust her?” Lenore cut him off. “You think just because she’s carrying a baby inside her, she’s less likely to betray her enemies? Come on,” she snarled. “You’re not stupid. Cersei will do anything for her children, it’s her only redeeming quality, you’ve said it yourself,” she said, feeling nauseous. “If betraying us is in her interest, that’s what she’ll do.” Tyrion sighed and finished his cup of wine. He was going to refill his cup but Lenore pushed her own untouched cup over to him instead. “I don’t want it,” she said when he looked surprised, and she got up, leaving Tyrion there alone as she went to look for Sandor.  
She found him sparring with Ser Jorah on deck. Sandor was beating him with ease, but the knight was still very good. They stopped, and Ser Jorah bowed at Lenore who was pulling her cape tight around her in the cold night air.  
“Please, there’s no need for that anymore. We’re friends,” she told him, and he smiled.  
“Something wrong?” Sandor asked with his eyebrows raised slightly. Lenore shook her head.  
“Just heading to bed. Wondered if you were coming,” she said, sounding a bit meak. That seemed to stir something inside Sandor and he put his sword away, nodding at Ser Jorah before following his wife down into their cabin.  
“You sure you’re alright?” he asked when Lenore gulped down water and groaned.  
“Yes. I’ve had better days, but I’m fine,” she said, taking his face gently in her hands and kissing him softly. He unclasped her cape and began unlacing her dress. Her kisses grew more fervent and she held onto him tightly as he undressed her. Then she started working on his clothes, unclasping the shoulder pauldrons, removing his beaded jacket, yanking the rustling chainmail over his head and discarding it. She ran her hands over his bare chest and one into his breeches, where she wrapped it around his stiffening cock.  
She stroked him a few times before he picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Sandor walked them backwards and backed Lenore up against the wall where he ground his crotch against her, making her moan against his lips. She tugged at his hair and pressed her chest against his, wanting as much contact as possible with his bare skin. Somehow she got his breeches down and out of the way, and he pushed himself into her with ease, pressing her harder into the wall as he fucked her. She moaned and buried her face in the crook of his neck, ignoring the tears that fell from her eyes.  
“Harder…” she whispered, and Sandor dug his nails into her skin as he pounded her against the wall while growling. She held him tightly, and soon he walked them back to the bed, not leaving her for a second as he lowered them onto the mattress, where they fucked long into the night, blissfully unaware that Jon and Daenerys were doing the same thing a few cabins away...


	53. Winterfell

Lenore felt better the next day, although she still felt more delicate and sensitive than usual. She tried to combat those feelings by sparring aggressively with Ser Jorah. He had seen her fight the wights with only daggers, so he didn’t bother being careful when they duelled with swords. Lenore picked up on his moves soon enough and fought him with ease. Soon she had Jorah on his knees with his sword on the ground and her swords at his throat. He laughed breathily.  
“Your husband is one hell of a teacher,” he said as Lenore extended a hand, helping him back up. “Did he go easy on you in the beginning at least?” he asked and chuckled again because he already knew the answer.  
“Not in the slightest. That’s why I got good fast. I had to learn how to block his hits if I wanted to be able to walk the next day.” Her answer had the knight smiling. Lenore didn’t mention how she could never walk the next day anyway because she always got so horny after the lessons that he fucked her until she trembled.  
One day, Daenerys had taken Lenore aside and told her something she didn’t want to hear. She and Jon were more than just allies now. They had decided they would be open with their relationship once they reached Winterfell. Lenore had sat wide eyed and quiet during the entire monologue.  
“Say  _ something,  _ please?” Daenerys pleaded when she was done talking.  
“I- you- he… fuck…” Lenore groaned and ran her hands through her hair. “What was he like?” she asked instead. Daenerys furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “In bed,” Lenore clarified. Daenerys rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile on her lips.  
“Not entirely unlike you’d suspect,” she said. “Careful. Attentive.”   
“Big?”   
“Laenerys!” she scolded.  
“Small?”   
“Well sized enough!” Daenerys admitted, and Lenore chuckled triumphantly when she got her answer.  
“I’m happy for you,” she then said. “You know how I feel about him, I still don’t trust him. And I urge you to be careful, alright? Promise me that.”   
“Alright,” Daenerys promised.  
“Good. Then I’m happy for you.” Lenore took her sister’s hands in her own and smiled warmly. Perhaps she had to be nicer to Jon Snow again. It would be hard, but she would try. She wouldn’t try to convince Sandor of the same thing, however.  
Just as Jon had said, they met up with the Dothraki at White Harbour, where they left the ship and travelled by horse instead. Stranger and Windrunner were still very much with them, having travelled in the stable of the ship. Lenore wore a coat similar to Daenerys’ white one, only hers was black. She was stroking Windrunner’s neck while she waited for everyone to get ready. A bit away, she saw Jon and Daenerys share a kiss before Jon walked off to help Sandor load some trunks onto a wagon.  
“I was right about you,” Sandor said with a raised eyebrow as Jon stood next to him.   
“How so?” he asked.  
“You wanted to fuck the queen. Could always see it on your green little face,” Sandor mocked, and Jon stopped helping him only to glare at him instead. He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “You inherited your father’s lack of humour. He never laughed either,” Sandor said and clapped Jon on his back.  
“I only laugh at funny jokes,” Jon argued, and Sandor had to chuckle again.  
“You’re sulkier than I am, and that means something, boy. Loosen up.”  
“Stop calling me boy and I will,” Jon snarked. “I’ve fought the White Walkers on more than one occasion!”  
“And you’re still a green boy. Come on, we’re done here,” Sandor said and loaded the last trunk onto the wagon before walking back to Lenore and their horses.  
In the distance, a familiar figure came riding, galloping towards them in high speed. When the figure came closer, Lenore smiled. Gendry had ridden down from the Wall to meet them and come with them to Winterfell. He rode up to Lenore and Sandor first, greeting them.  
“Good to see you again,” Lenore told him when he got off his horse. She offered him his hand, and he shook it awkwardly. “It’s custom to kiss a lady’s hand when you meet her,” she chided with a smile on her face. Gendry shook his head.  
“Didn’t do much of that where I grew up,” he said, and Lenore chuckled and embraced him instead. He made an exaggerated bowing gesture when they broke the hug, then he turned to Sandor who looked him up and down with a scowl on his face.  
“Glad you didn’t die running back to Eastwatch,” he muttered. Gendry grinned.   
“Thank you, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he said, and Sandor scoffed bitterly.  
“Don’t get used to it.” Lenore shook her head but couldn’t stop smiling.  
“Noted,” Gendry said and rubbed his hands together, looking around to see the massive armies around him. “How many soldiers are there?”  
“Eight thousand Unsullied, some ten thousand Dothraki,” Lenore answered.  
“And two dragons,” Sandor added.  
“Fucking hells…” Gendry mumbled as he looked back to them.  
A horn sounded that meant it was time to depart for Winterfell. Lenore dusted the snow off her gloves before climbing onto her horse. Sandor and Gendry did the same, and they rode up to take their place not far behind Jon and Daenerys. They rode first, except for a few lines of Unsullied, with Ser Jorah after them, then a few Dothraki, then Sandor and Lenore, with Gendry behind them, then more Dothraki and Unsullied. Tyrion and Varys rode in a wagon further down the line, Missandei and Grey Worm after, and then the rest of the Unsullied marched and the Dothraki rode behind them. They kept that line all the way through Wintertown, where Northpeople had already gathered along the walls to watch.  
The Northerners looked highly skeptical of anyone who wasn’t Jon, as they marched through Wintertown, the town leading up to Winterfell. Lenore faintly heard Jon tell Daenerys that he warned her about Northerners not trusting outsiders. The air was chilly and crisp, but it had nothing on the icy cold beyond the Wall. Once you had experienced that, then this was nothing. A dragon’s screech came from the sky, and the people immediately started shuffling around anxiously, and as the two dragons soared above them, they screamed in fear and some of them scattered. Lenore noticed one small form who stood her ground, however, and she wondered if that was who she suspected it was.  
Once they reached the gates of Winterfell, the Unsullied stopped, and made a path for Daenerys, Jon, Jorah, Sandor and Lenore to ride through. Jon and Daenerys rode in first, and Jon hurried off his horse the second he saw his long lost brother. He hurried up and kissed his forehead, greeting him. Daenerys climbed off her horse as well. Jon greeted Bran, and Sansa, who stood at the front line of the Northerners in Winterfell. Lenore wasn’t planning on rushing forward, she was going to let Jon introduce Daenerys first before she even made her presence known, but her emotions took over as she saw Sansa Stark embracing Jon. As they broke apart, Lenore almost flew off her horse and ran forward, throwing herself around Sansa’s neck and hugging her tightly.  
The red haired woman was shocked, not expecting anyone to fling herself on her, but she had recognised Lenore’s face and hugged her back just as tightly. Lenore buried her face in Sansa’s fur cape and tears burned behind her eyes as she revelled in the feeling of embracing her old friend. After a moment, she pulled away with a sob, and put her hand on Sansa’s cheek.  
“Lady Sansa…” she mumbled.   
“Lady Lenore,” Sansa said with a soft smile. Lenore scrunched her face up as her tears fell, but she smiled widely.   
“I’m so happy to see you alive and back in Winterfell,” she exclaimed through her sobs. Sansa’s smile widened as she took a lock of Lenore’s hair in her hand.   
“Arya told me about your true heritage, but I didn’t expect you to be quite so…”   
“Silver haired?” Lenore filled in, and Sansa nodded.   
“I’m happy to see you too,” Sansa said, and then Jon cleared his throat behind them.  
“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry,” Lenore excused herself, wiped her happy tears and hurried back to stand next to Sandor who put a protective arm over her shoulders, allowing Jon to bring Daenerys forward. Daenerys walked up to Jon and Sansa, ignoring the looks she received from some of the Northerners.  
“Queen Daenerys of house Targaryen,” Jon introduced her. “My sister, Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell.”  
“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said politely. Sansa smiled slightly at Daenerys who continued talking. “The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed. As are you,” she said and smiled.  
“Winterfell is yours, your Grace,” Sansa said, and before Daenerys could answer, Bran Stark spoke.  
“We don’t have time for all this,” he cut them off harshly. Daenerys turned to look at him. “The Night King has your dragon. He’s one of them now,” Bran said, and both the Targaryen sisters’ eyes went wide. “The Wall has fallen. The dead march south.” He finished speaking, and they decided this conversation would be better held inside.  
They gathered in Winterfell’s great hall, where Jon, Sansa, Tyrion and Daenerys sat at the head table, and the Northmen at the many tables that fit in the hall. Varys stood at the side of the table listening, and Jorah, Sandor and Lenore sat among the Northmen. Daenerys seemed anxious and didn’t sit, but rather she stood behind her seat, close to the fire.  
“As soon as we heard about the Wall, I called all our banners to retreat to Winterfell,” Sansa spoke to them all. “Lord Umber,” she called, and a young boy stuck his head out. “When can we expect your people to arrive?” Sansa asked, and the young boy got up and stood in the middle of the room.  
“We need more horses and wagons, if it please, my Lady. And... my Lord… and… my Queen,” he spoke, unsure how to address Sansa, Jon and Daenerys now that King Jon wasn’t king anymore after bending the knee to Queen Daenerys. “Sorry,” he said when Daenerys looked at him.  
“You’ll have as many as we can spare,” Sansa told him. “Hurry back to Last Hearth and bring your people here.” The young boy bowed and left the room.  
“We need to send ravens to the Night’s Watch as well,” Jon spoke. “There’s no sense in manning the castles anymore, we make our stand here.” The man in a maester’s cloak and heavy chain bowed.  
“At once, your Grace,” he said, and Lenore bit her lip when he called Jon ‘your Grace’. Daenerys sat down in her seat.  
“Your Grace...” a young girl’s voice sounded. Jon looked bothered, and the girl stood up, walking confidently into the middle of the room. It was the girl who had given Daenerys a deadly glare before. She wore a bear sigil on her clothes, meaning she was probably a Mormont, like Ser Jorah. “But you’re not, are you?” she asked. “You left Winterfell a king and came back a… I’m not sure what you are now. A Lord? Nothing at all?” she challenged, and Lenore felt her lip twitch. Low mutters of agreement came from the Northmen around her.   
“It’s not important,” Jon said with a small smile.   
“Not important?” the girl questioned. “We named you King in the North,” she said harshly, and the Northmen banged on the table and made agreeing noises again. Jon looked to Sansa, who didn’t give him the comforting look he probably hoped for.   
“You did, my Lady,” Jon agreed. “It was the honour of my life. I’ll always be grateful for your faith.” He stood up. “But when I left Winterfell I told you, we need allies or we will die. I have brought those allies home!” he said, and the girl sat down. “To fight alongside us,” Jon explained, and Daenerys looked up at him from her seat. Sansa gave Daenerys a look laced with distrust. “I had a choice. Keep my crown, or protect the North. I chose the North!” Jon insisted. Rumbling and displeased noises came from the Northmen. Tyrion stood up, and Lenore would have shouted at him to sit the fuck down, because these people won’t trust him. But she kept quiet, and Tyrion came forward.  
“If anyone survives the war to come,” he began, “we’ll have Jon Snow to thank. He risked his life to show us the threat is real. Thanks to his courage, we have brought with us the greatest army the world has ever seen! We have brought two full grown dragons. And soon, the Lannister army will ride North and join our cause.” Lenore cringed at his words, and it didn’t take many seconds before the Northmen were protesting. Here, they hated the Lannisters more than anywhere else.  
“Shut up and sit back down,” Lenore urged him, and he looked at her apologetically before continuing.  
“I know, I know, our people haven’t been friends in the past! But we must fight together now, or die,” he insisted, and the noise died down. But Sansa leaned forward from her seat at the table.  
“May I ask, how are we meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen?” she asked. “While I ensured our stores would last through winter, I didn’t account for Dothraki, Unsullied, and two full grown dragons,” she said, and Daenerys shot her a look. “What do dragons eat, anyway?” Sansa asked.  
“Whatever they want…” Daenerys murmured, and Lenore felt a snarl in her throat. She didn’t want her sister and her old friend to fight each other. But they weren’t getting off on the right foot, so much was obvious. Lenore knew she had a long and difficult journey in front of her, but one thing made her happy. Sansa Stark was no longer the scared little girl she had left in King’s Landing. She had grown into a strong, clever and capable young woman, and nothing warmed Lenore’s heart more.


	54. Cold days

The meeting had ended shortly after that, and Lenore had gone off to explore Winterfell. As a child she had always wanted to come North. See the snow, experience the cold. Now she was here. Gendry was on top of one of the wagons full of the dragonglass they had mined on Dragonstone. He was here to help make weapons from it for the battle. Lenore met up with Tyrion along the way, after he had been speaking with Sansa.  
“The Lady of Winterfell seems to share your skepticism towards Cersei. Doubts her army is coming North,” he informed her as they walked.  
“That’s because she knows Cersei like I do,” Lenore said calmly.  
“She’s  _ my _ sister, I think I know her better than both of you,” Tyrion insisted, but Lenore shook her head.  
“You don’t. You’ve never experienced the side of Cersei that Sansa and I have. You’ve never been victim of her false courtesies and veiled threats and hidden lies. Whenever she’s threatened you she’s done it to your face. She didn’t disguise her hatred for you in a sweet coat of falseness. She did with me. And with Sansa. That’s why we know she’s lying,” Lenore said, and turned the other direction, walking towards the Godswood and leaving Tyrion behind.  
Sansa didn’t take many minutes before she came walking gracefully towards Lenore, sitting down beside her next to the Weirwood tree. Lenore smiled.  
“Your sister is… well…” Sansa began, not knowing how to describe Daenerys.  
“Headstrong,” Lenore suggested. Sansa looked at her and chuckled. Lenore fiddled with a red leaf that had fallen from the tree.  
“You’re still with him,” Sansa stated, and Lenore looked up again.  
“Yes,” she said softly.  
“He makes you happy. He always did,” Sansa said, and Lenore knotted her eyebrows together. “Even then, I could see it on you. He gave you a strength that no one else could.” Lenore smiled and tossed the leaf onto the icy pond.  
“That sums up my marriage pretty well,” she said.  
“I’m happy you’re still with him.” Sansa was genuine and kind when she spoke with Lenore.   
“Speaking of marriages, you haven’t been as lucky,” Lenore said.  
“Are you referring to Tyrion or Ramsay?” Sansa asked and scoffed.  
“Tyrion you could have handled. I’m talking about Ramsay.” Sansa seemed to shudder at the mere thought of him.  
“He was horrible. Hurt me in ways I never knew were possible.”   
“I wanted to ride straight from Meereen up here to save you when I heard you’d married him,” Lenore said honestly, making Sansa chuckle humouredly. “Why  _ did _ you marry him?” Lenore asked.  
“You don’t know? Roose Bolton legitimised Ramsay, and then he needed to marry. Who better to secure his claim to the North than the daughter of Ned Stark? Lord Baelish sold me to him.”   
“Petyr!?” Lenore exclaimed.  
“Yes. Didn’t you know I was with him?” Sansa asked.   
“I-I, I heard you were travelling together, yes, but I didn’t know… I didn’t think he’d do that. I thought he helped you, I heard he brought the knights of the Vale to your aid when you were taking back Winterfell, wait, Sansa, where is he?” Lenore asked, riling herself up.  
“Had you come here a few weeks ago, you would have witnessed his execution,” Sansa said, and Lenore’s mouth fell open.  
“Your doing?” she asked. Sansa shook her head.  
“Arya,” she said.  
“Of course.” Lenore let out an exasperated sigh.  
“He was awful, Lenore,” Sansa said and took her hand.   
“I know, I’m not defending him. But he did raise me. Would’ve been nice to say goodbye before he died, you know?” she asked, and chuckled bitterly. “I didn’t see Arya anywhere, where is she?”  
“Arya’s always lurking somewhere, never wants to be with us on formal occasions,” Sansa said with a scoff that made Lenore chuckle.  
“No, she was always-”  
“You talking about me?” Arya’s voice cut through the air and Lenore flew up. The wind caught in her throat as she looked at the all grown up Arya Stark. Her hair was much longer and tied back like her father used to wear it, and she was wearing an asymmetrical cape. On her waist was Needle, and a new fancy dagger. She looked like a woman now. A fierce woman.  
“Yes,” Lenore exhaled, and Arya smiled, pulling Needle out of her belt.  
“Let’s see if you’re any good then,” Arya challenged, and Lenore pulled out both her swords, twirling them in her hands. Sansa looked uncomfortable, but Arya wore a smirk on her face. Arya waited with her sword behind her back for Lenore to make the first move, and when she lunged forward, before she even knew it, one sword was already out of her hand, and Arya’s smirk grew. She tightened her grip on the dragon sword as she lunged again, meeting Arya’s Needle in the air. They battled for dominance, steel clashing against steel.  
The two girls were both quick and smooth when they moved, and Sansa watched them both with fear and fascination. Lenore had the upper hand for a few seconds, but was quickly caught off guard when Arya yanked her sword away and went real low, slipping around Lenore and kicking her in the shin. She fell onto her knee but still battled Arya’s hits off with her sword, until Arya managed to thrust it out of her hand as well, and she pointed Needle at Lenore’s throat. Lenore raised her hands in surrender, and Arya lowered Needle with a proud smirk.  
“I can tell who trained you. That’s embarrassing. You should train with me from now on,” Arya said, and Lenore laughed, getting onto her feet again and wrapping her arms around Arya’s neck, hugging her. She hugged her back, albeit a little hesitant, before they broke it off.  
“I’d love to train with you. You have to teach me everything you know,” Lenore exclaimed, and Arya chuckled almost shyly, but nodded.  
“I crossed Meryn Trant off my list. Killed him in a brothel in Braavos where he tried to rape little girls. Did you cross anyone off yours?” she then asked, and Lenore shook her head.  
“No. Almost got Jaime but it turned out we needed him. But thank you for killing Ser Child Beater,” she said.  
“Alright, you’re both killers, I get it,” Sansa scolded and stood up. “Come on, Lenore, let’s get back. I need to check on something,” she said, and Lenore nodded. She smiled at Arya before putting her swords back in their sheaths and following Sansa arm in arm back to the castle.  
The hours passed quickly in Winterfell, and Lenore was thoroughly enjoying it here. She had explored so much and spoken to so many people that she didn’t see her husband again until she entered their given chamber late at night. She found him half asleep on the bed, but he opened one eye when he heard her come in.  
“Thought you’d forgotten about me,” he joked. He had already taken off all his armour and looked all cozy now.  
“Never. Just got so caught up with everything. I like it here,” Lenore said as she took off her black winter coat and hung it over a chair. She stripped down just her yellow cotton dress and curled up next to Sandor. “I got my arse handed to me by Arya today,” she said, and Sandor raised his eyebrow and looked at her in surprise.  
“How was she?” he asked.   
“She was good. You can tell she’s been training with assassins for a while… Beat me in minutes, totally flattened me. It was embarrassing, really,” Lenore said, and Sandor laughed into her hair as he nuzzled her. She giggled contently as she was pulled deeper into Sandor’s arms and on top of him. “I spoke with Sansa too. She’s alright,” Lenore said, and Sandor let out a pleased ‘hmm’. “I know you cared about her before. Figured you might wanna know she’s al-”   
“Alright. Good. Now shut up,” he mumbled and took her face in his hands, kissing her. She smiled into the kiss as she totally lost herself in him. He unclasped her yellow dress and revealed her naked body to his touch. He was oddly gentle while he trailed his fingers down her neck and chest, over her breasts and stiffening nipples and down her belly. She tensed up when his touch tickled, and he moved on, looking her in the eye as his hand found her center, teasing her bare cunt with his big fingers.  
She bit her lip and steadied herself with one hand against the stone wall. When Sandor deemed her worked up enough, he grabbed her hip with one hand with with the other he eased two fingers into her. She made a mewling noise as she tried not to cry out in pleasure. Sandor held her still as he pumped his fingers in and out of her, getting more and more rough until Lenore couldn’t keep quiet anymore and her voice broke into a pleasured cry.  
She tugged at his jacket and tunic, wanting them off of him at once. With a chuckle he obliged, pulling his fingers out of her and licking them clean before allowing her to rip off his clothes. When they were both naked, Sandor took it upon himself to move Lenore into the position he wanted her. On her hands and knees in front of him. She was trembling with anticipation as he got behind her and slapped her bum hard, making her whimper, before he slammed into her, grabbing her hips again and using them to slam her back against him over and over. He was growling and she was moaning wildly, not minding if anyone heard.  
Lenore’s arms wouldn’t carry her and she slumped forward, arching her back, which drove Sandor even wilder. He leaned down and bit her neck, marking her up again, and she cried in pain and pleasure as he did. Then he roughly pushed her down onto her stomach and ground himself into her, his teeth still in her skin while he fucked her like mad into the mattress. Soon, he felt her sob and shake and tremble, and he knew she was close. So biting down on her neck again, he continued driving himself deeper into her, and finally she broke, shaking and moaning his name over and over, prompting him to grab her wrists and pin them down against the bed while he came, shooting his seed deep inside her with a growl, before slumping down next to her. It only took them seconds to fall asleep after that.  
The next few days were eventful. Everyone was preparing for the war, making weapons, digging trenches, securing the walls. Sandor helped in digging trenches, and Lenore followed Sansa around, helping her with whatever she needed. The two ladies talked and talked, shared their stories, and Lenore tried to convince Sansa that Daenerys was a just ruler. Sansa was highly skeptical.  
Later, on one of the walls Lenore saw Davos, Tyrion and Varys, so she walked up to them and joined them in what sounded like a very somber conversation. Before they could even change the topic, two dragons soared above them. Drogon and Rhaegal were chasing each other, and on a closer look, Lenore saw that Daenerys was riding Drogon, and - Jon Snow was riding Rhaegal!   
“That bastardly cunt!” Lenore whisper-screamed as he soared past them. Tyrion looked up at her.  
“They make a handsome couple, you have to admit,” he said, and she frowned.  
“If he thinks he can be a dragon rider now, he’s wrong,” Lenore muttered and looked after the dragons as they flew out of sight.  
Later in the day, Lenore went by the blacksmith. She saw Arya leave just seconds before she arrived, and she smiled, knowing how much Gendry had missed Arya, and she only guessed Arya missed him too. Lenore walked up to Gendry and watched as he worked.  
“M’lady,” he said and bowed his head when he noticed her.   
“Going well?” Lenore asked, leaning against a post. Gendry nodded.  
“Made your husband a great big axe. Think he called me a cocksucker for it. Or a cripple. I’m not sure,” he said, and Lenore laughed.  
“So do you think you can make dragonglass swords or not?” she asked and raised an eyebrow at him.  
“Sort of,” Gendry said. “Such a long weapon made of dragonglass would be fragile. I’d have to make the insides with steel and then coat ‘em in dragonglass,” he explained, and Lenore nodded.  
“As long as they function as swords, I’m good.”  
“Won’t be near as fancy as that dragon sword you got, of course, but I don’t suppose that matters.”   
“No, I don’t think the dead will care much what the weapon that destroys them looks like,” Lenore said and they both chuckled. “Thanks,” she said, patted Gendry’s arm and went to leave, but stopped herself.  
“Hey Gendry…” she mumbled.  
“Hm?” he asked, looking up from a row of arrowheads.   
“Could you make armour as well?” she asked, and he looked a bit puzzled.   
“I could,” he answered.   
“Really big armour?”   
“Sure.” Lenore grinned, and told him her idea.  
Later in the evening she found herself sparring with Arya in the yard. Much like Sandor, Arya didn’t give her any tips or hints until after she fell over and failed, only then did she say something about how watching is not seeing. Lenore growled and leaped up again. She was sure they had been at it for hours when she finally started being able to do reasonably well. Arya was quick as a cat and quiet as a shadow when she moved, and it amazed Lenore, so when they were finally done training, she had to ask.  
“What was it like, with the Faceless men?” Arya hopped up on a bench and tucked Needle into its sheath before answering.   
“I learnt a lot. But I couldn’t stay. We had… disagreements… about how much of an identity you were allowed as a Faceless Man,” she said.  
“I don’t understand what that means,” Lenore said and chuckled.  
“They want you to have nothing, want nothing, be no one. I couldn’t be no one. I’m a Stark, I’ll always be a Stark,” Arya told her, and she nodded.  
“I’m glad you’re here. It’s where you belong,” she said with a smile. Arya looked distant for a while, as if thinking about all the other places she could have been.  
“Me too,” she finally said. “Glad you’re here as well. Not sure about your sister, though.”   
“What is it with you Stark girls and not trusting Daenerys?” Lenore asked and shook her head.  
“I don’t trust anyone I don’t know. Those dragons are impressive, though,” Arya admitted. “You ever ride them?” she asked. Lenore nodded.   
“Plenty of times. Even designed a saddle from which I can fight,” she informed the Stark girl who looked impressed.  
“Was that what the green one had on its neck when you arrived?” she asked.  
“Mhm,” Lenore confirmed. “His name is Rhaegal. And the red one is Drogon.”   
“I thought she had three,” Arya said, and Lenore felt a pang of sadness in her chest as she thought of the yellow dragon.  
“She did. Viserion was killed by the Night King when Daenerys flew all her dragons beyond the Wall to save us and your brother,” she explained, and Arya nodded quietly. “She didn’t have to come here, you know. We could’ve gone straight to King’s Landing to fight Cersei. But we’re here, fighting for the North. Doesn’t that say something about Daenerys?” she asked, to which Arya didn’t respond.  
“We should get going back. Gets really cold at night here,” she said, and together they walked back inside before parting ways. It didn’t take long before Lenore saw Sandor sitting with some Northmen by a table drinking wine. He wasn’t talking much, but he didn’t seem completely miserable either. Lenore smiled and walked up to them. There wasn’t any room left by the table, so she sat down directly in Sandor’s lap instead, and he eagerly snaked his arm around his waist. The Northmen wolf whistled and chuckled drunkenly at the action, and Lenore smirked, pressing a kiss on her husband’s lips, which he returned with a bite.  
“Lucky old shit, you are!” one of the drunk Northmen cheered him, and he actually laughed. The Northmen soon became caught up in slurring crude suggestions about Sandor and Lenore to each other, and she blocked them out to talk to her husband.  
“Making friends?” she asked him lightly.  
“They sat down with me, not the other way around,” Sandor muttered, making Lenore chuckle.  
“Did you meet Arya yet?” she asked.   
“Aye. She yelled at me for being mean to her boyfriend,” Sandor said with a grin.  
“Gendry?” Lenore asked and raised her eyebrow.   
“Who else?” They both chuckled, and Lenore was about to take a sip of Sandor’s wine, but instantly regretted it and set the cup back down on the table. The rest of the night was quite pleasant, involving lots of joking around and entertaining stories from Northmen who were too drunk to even notice Sandor’s hand under Lenore’s dress the whole time.


	55. Bran's Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My oh my we're getting close to war...

Brandon Stark was the least pleasant of the Stark children. He sat in a wooden wheelchair and he didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was ominous and creepy. Lenore had seen him sitting outside and alone last night, and when she had asked him why he was sitting all alone, he only stared at her and said he was waiting for an old friend. Sansa had explained to Lenore that Bran has visions. He could see the past, present and future. After that, Lenore had stayed away from the young man as much as possible.  
It turned out, however, that she knew his old friend. When she woke up in the morning, the first thing she heard when she stepped outside her door was that Jaime fucking Lannister, the Kingslayer, was here. Lenore immediately grabbed Sandor and dragged him - very much against his will - down to the great hall.  
“He’s a smug little cunt, I don’t miss him, I don’t need to see him again,” Sandor grumbled when Lenore walked three steps ahead of him with her hand yanking on his tunic sleeve.  
“Don’t care, we’re going,” she said decisively and walked through the door into the great hall.  
Daenerys already sat by the great table, with Sansa and Jon on her sides. Long gone from Sansa were the bright, soft dresses of her girlhood. Now they were dark and tight, and her upper body hidden away in tight black leather. Tyrion stood beside the table, and slowly but surely the room was filling with Northmen. Lenore and Sandor stood by the wall and listened. Soon, Jaime Lannister was brought into the hall. His hair was greying even more, and he had a beard now. The Unsullied who brought him him left quickly again, leaving Jaime standing in the middle of the room alone, surrounded by Northmen. He didn’t look like a golden lion now, only a lonely man in brown leather. Daenerys looked at him and her eyes filled with disgust.  
“When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story,” she spoke. “About the man who murdered our father. Who stabbed him in the back, and cut his throat. Who sat down on the throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor.” Jaime didn’t look guilty as Daenerys spoke, he only stood silent and listened. Lenore chewed on the corner of her lip, trying her best not to interrupt her queen. “He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man, once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp.” Lenore broke, she couldn’t stay silent anymore.   
“All due respect, your Grace, but killing our father is the  _ least  _ of this man’s crimes. Our father burned innocent people alive and laughed. Jaime Lannister is a man of many sins, but saving King’s Landing from our tyrant of a father is not one of them,” she said, and immediately the room filled with whispers. Daenerys looked at Lenore and her expression was unreadable. There was anger, yes, but deep down she knew Lenore was right, and she decided to change the topic, looking back at Jaime Lannister.  
“Your sister pledged to send her army North,” she said, and at this, Jaime looked slightly more guilty.   
“She did,” he confirmed.   
“I don’t see an army,” Daenerys said and raised her hands dismissively. “I see one man. With one hand. It appears your sister lied to me.” Lenore glared at Tyrion while Daenerys spoke, and he couldn’t look her in the eye, knowing she had been right again and he wrong.   
“She lied to me as well,” Jaime said, sounding sincere. “She never had any intention of sending her army North. She has Euron Greyjoy’s fleet, and twenty thousand fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos. Bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she’ll have more than enough to destroy the survivors.”   
“We?” Daenerys questioned, still filled with loathing for this man.  
“I promised to fight for the living, I intend to keep that promise,” Jaime insisted. Tyrion stepped forward.  
“Your Grace, I know my brother-”   
“Like you knew your sister?” Daenerys asked in a venomous tone. Tyrion frowned.  
“He came here alone, knowing full well how he would be received. Why would he do that, if he weren’t telling the truth?”   
“Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him,” Daenerys sneered, and Lenore couldn’t help a pit in her stomach. Daenerys had been harsher than normal since coming here, and Lenore didn’t like it. It wasn’t like her, she was kind and good. Not harsh and cold. “Right up to the moment he slits my throat,” she finished, and Tyrion looked aghast. Lenore had a deep crease between her eyebrows.  
“You’re right, we can’t trust him,” said Sansa Stark. Lenore’s forehead smoothed out when she heard Sansa agree with Daenerys. “He attacked my father in the street, he tried to destroy my house and family, the same as he did yours,” Sansa said, looking at Daenerys who was watching her. Those were indeed sins of his that Lenore knew of.  
“You want me to apologise!?” Jaime asked indignantly. “I won’t. We were at war! Everything I did, I did for my house and my family, I’d do it all again,” he argued, and suddenly Bran Stark spoke up from the corner of the table.  
“The things we do for love,” he said, and everything in Jaime’s demeanour changed. His eyes widened at the quote, and he seemed unable to speak. Lenore wondered what significance that quote had, making the obnoxious Lannister shut up for once.  
“So why have you abandoned your house and family now?” Daenerys asked, still in the same harsh tone. Jaime glanced back at Brienne, who sat among the Northerners.  
“Because this goes beyond loyalty,” he said. She had told him something like that when she tried to persuade him to talk to Cersei back in the Dragonpit of King’s Landing. “This is about survival.” There was a moment of silence before the tall blonde woman stood up.  
“You don’t know me well, your Grace,” she said and walked up to stand in front of Jaime. “But I know Ser Jaime. He  _ is  _ a man of honour. I was his captor once, but when we were both taken prisoner and the men who were holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me, and lost his hand because of it.” As Brienne spoke, Daenerys’ face softened, if only a little. Brienne looked at Sansa. “Without him, my Lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armoured me, and sent me to find you and bring you home. Because he’d sworn an oath to your mother.” Sansa’s face softened as well. She knew Brienne, and she knew Brienne wouldn’t lie. She looked down.   
“You vouch for him?” she asked when she looked up again. Jaime looked uncertain.   
“I do,” Brienne said firmly.   
“You would fight beside him?” Sansa continued.  
“I would,” Brienne said just as firmly, and Jaime looked at her, his eyes filled with emotion. He loved her, Lenore realised. He might not even know it himself, but it was there in his eyes.  
“I trust you with my life,” Sansa told Brienne. “If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay,” she said, and Daenerys turned to look at her incredulously. As Brienne returned to her seat, Daenerys turned to Jon.  
“What does the Warden of the North say about it?” she asked. Jon looked uncomfortable.   
“We need every man we can get,” he said. Jaime nodded slowly. Daenerys looked at Lenore, desperate for someone to take her side, but Lenore couldn’t.  
“Let him fight with us against the dead. If he wants to get back to Cersei after, I’ll execute him myself,” she said, both disagreeing with her sister and giving her  _ some  _ peace of mind. Daenerys looked down for a while, pondering her decision.  
“Very well,” she said finally. Tyrion breathed a sigh of relief. Daenerys looked to Grey Worm and nodded, and he picked up Jaime’s sword, walked back to him and handed it to him, all while looking very unhappy having to do so.  
“Thank you, your Grace,” Jaime said and bowed his head. Daenerys didn’t answer, only stood up, and everyone mimicked her. She looked to Jon, who for some reason marched right past her as if her presence was hurting him. Sansa left through one exit, and Daenerys through another. Lenore placed a quick peck on Sandor’s cheek before she ran after her sister. Tyrion, Joran and Varys walked behind Daenerys, and she was yelling at Tyrion.  
“Either you knew Cersei was lying and let me believe otherwise, or you didn’t know at all, which makes you either a traitor or a fool!”   
“I was a fool!” Tyrion exclaimed.   
“Not for the first time,” Daenerys muttered, then turned around and looked at him. “Cersei still sits on the Throne, if you can’t help me take it back, I’ll find another Hand who can!” she snarled, leaving Tyrion, Jorah and Varys standing. Only Lenore rushed after her.  
“Dany-”   
“And you! What was that,  _ you’re  _ defending him now!?” Daenerys shouted while walking. Lenore rolled her eyes.  
“I’m not defending him, but he’s the smallest of your problems at the moment!” she argued, and Daenerys scoffed. “You know you should listen to me, right? I warned you not to trust Cersei’s promises. I told Jaime and I told you, if he tries going back to that cunt, I’ll kill him, I’ll rip him apart. But right now he’s not your biggest problem. Sansa is.”   
“ _ Your  _ friend,” Daenerys snarled and stopped, glaring at Lenore.   
“Why are you so hostile with me? I’m your sister! All I’m saying is you need to make her trust you. I warned you Northerners are stubborn, Jon warned you they don’t trust outsiders. You can’t just show up and demand her respect, you need to show her you’re ready to earn it. Talk to her. Let her get to know you.” Daenerys seemed to soften a little, but she was still on edge. She rolled her eyes again and sighed.  
“She doesn’t like me,” she said.  
“Have you given her a chance to? Have you talked to her, just the two of you? Have you explained yourself to her? Have you done anything since you got here to  _ make  _ her like you?”   
“She should see-”   
“ _ How  _ should she see?” Lenore asked and put her hands on Daenerys’ shoulders. “Dany, I love you, but Sansa doesn’t know you, why should she trust a foreign woman she doesn’t know? The daughter of a mad king who burned innocents alive, no less.”   
“You’re also his daughter!” Daenerys insisted.  
“Yes. And I got to know Sansa when she was just a scared little twelve year old in King’s Landing and I was Lenore Baelish, another scared young girl. Do you know how much shit she’s been through since then? Her story is not entirely unlike yours, with bad men and all. It’s made her weary of outsiders, as every smart person should be. Get to know her, I beg you,” Lenore said, slipping her hands down to Daenerys’ hands. She held them in her own as Daenerys sighed and nodded.  
“Fine. But I need to speak with Ser Jorah first.” She squeezed Lenore’s hands before disappearing around the corner. Lenore sighed and ran her hand through her hair, praying that things would ease up. She continued walking through the corridors, when she felt a wisp of wind blow past her. She frowned and stopped.  
“You’ve got Jaime here now,” Arya stated, having appeared out of nowhere. “You said he was on your list. You gonna kill him?” she asked.  
“No.” Lenore shook her head. “We need him, I’m afraid.” Arya looked displeased, and Lenore looked at her. “We should train again,” she said and smiled.  
“You that eager to get knocked on your arse again?” Arya asked with a grin, making Lenore chuckle.  
“I’m not leaving this place until I’m as good as you,” she insisted. Arya lifted her eyebrows in agreement and they left together, finding a good spot in the yard.  
They must have been at it for hours before Lenore had finally started getting a grip on Arya’s moves. At one point she managed to knock Needle out of Arya’s hand, and just as she thought she was winning, Arya had gotten her dagger up against Lenore’s throat.  
“Fuck!” Lenore growled, and Arya laughed. The younger girl retrieved her sword from the ground and then they were back at it. Arya had many tricks up her sleeve, ducking and dodging hits with immense skill, and dealing them with the same. Lenore was determined to learn each of those tricks and become just as good. With a clash of steel, and a kick to her stomach, Arya tumbled backwards, and Lenore won her first round against her ever, putting one of her swords to her throat with a proud grin.  
“Don’t get too cocky,” Arya said with a smile as she jumped back up. They weren’t alone in training on this very spot. Several men and women were practicing for the war to come, with swords and spears alike, and Brienne was watching over them. Podrick was nearby as well, teaching another young man to fight, after having been taught by Brienne. Up on the wall, Lenore noticed Tyrion and Jaime looking down on them as well. She gave Jaime her best “I’ll kill you if you betray us” look before returning her focus to fighting Arya. It didn’t take long before Jaime was down in the snow talking with Brienne, and Arya scolded Lenore for losing focus as she hit her repeatedly with Needle.  
“Ouch, not my belly, I’m focused, I’m focused!” Lenore grimaced and ignored the one handed knight walking away with Brienne. They kept going at it until they noticed a large figure watching them. Arya spun her sword around in her hand and pointed it at Sandor.  
“Don’t mind me, I’m just watching you beat the shit out of my wife,” he said humouredly.  
“Hey!” Lenore scolded and glared at him. He and Arya both chuckled.  
“Faceless twats certainly taught you something,” he grumbled to Arya, who stopped smiling. “Take it you won’t be hiding away in the crypts for the battle then?” he asked.  
“No,” said Arya flatly. Sandor didn’t protest, he didn’t try to convince her to stay safe. He only nodded. Then Arya took her leave, disappearing back into the castle. Suddenly the sound of a horn caught their attention. Lenore tucked her swords away and took Sandor’s hand in hers.  
“What have you been doing?” she asked as they walked.  
“Dug trenches with the Northerners. Only just got done,” he told her. In the distance they noticed Tormund and Beric talking to Jon and Samwell Tarly, along with another man who Lenore didn’t recognise. They were the riders who had cause the sounding of the horn.  
“How the fuck does he keep surviving everything?” Sandor growled when he saw Beric, who had obviously survived the Wall falling, as had Tormund and the third man. Lenore marched up to them and listened in on their conversation.  
“We had to travel around them to get here. Whoever’s not here now, is with them,” Tormund said, referring to the Night King’s army.  
“How long do we have?” Jon asked.  
“Before the sun comes up tomorrow,” Tormund answered.


	56. When we return

Jon called an emergency council meeting immediately after Tormund’s discovery. Jon, Samwell, Tormund, Bran, Arya and Sansa, Lenore, Sandor, Beric, Alys Karstark, Jaime and Tyrion, Brienne, Ser Davos, Ser Jorah, Varys, Lyanna Mormont, Yohn Royce, and Theon Greyjoy. they were all packed in the small map room of Winterfell. Theon had only just arrived the very same day, having rescued his sister from Euron, and now he wanted to fight for Winterfell.  
“If you want all the Dothraki to die, this is a brilliant plan,” Sandor snarled at Jon.  
“What do you suggest we change then?” Jon muttered back.   
“Move the fucking catapults behind the walls so they don’t get stormed the first thing they do. And don’t let the fucking Dothraki charge into the unknown! They’ll be cut into ribbons! Have them stand their ground until the enemy appears,  _ then  _ have them charge in an encircling maneuver.”   
“But-”   
“Never charge at what you don’t know!”  
“You’re not even in charge here!” Jon argued. He didn’t like having his battle plans questioned by Sandor. Again.  
“I’m Queen Daenerys’ war strategist!” he insisted.   
“You’re not  _ my  _ war strategist!” Jon shouted.  
“I’m the best fucking war strategist you got,  _ boy _ !” Sandor growled so that his spit flew, and he slammed his hands down on the map table, making everyone in the room except Lenore and Bran flinch. Jon and Sandor stared each other down for a long moment before Jon let out an exasperated sigh.  
“Fine,” he muttered. “So. The army of the dead. They’re coming. We have dragonglass, and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them. Far too many. Our enemy doesn’t tire. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t feel. We can’t beat them in a straight fight.”  
“So what can we do?” asked Jaime Lannister. Sansa tilted her head watching while Sandor rearranged the painted wood chips on the table to fit his strategy.  
“The Night King made them all, they follow his command,” Jon said. “If he falls… Getting to him might be our best chance.  
“If that’s true, he’ll never expose himself,” Jaime countered.  
“Yes he will,” said Bran Stark suddenly. Everyone’s eyes turned to him. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times, with many three eyed ravens.”   
“What does he want?” Samwell Tarly asked.  
“An endless night. He wants to erase this world, and I am its memory,” Bran answered solemnly from his chair.  
“That’s what death is, isn’t it? Forgetting. Being forgotten…” Samwell said, and Lenore grimaced.  
“That’s not what death is. Death is just death,” she said, and Arya stifled a chuckle. Samwell looked at Lenore and tilted his head at her.  
“If we forget where we’ve been, and what we’ve done, we’re not men anymore, just animals,” Samwell insisted. Lenore still wanted to argue with him, but decided that it wasn’t important in this very moment. Sam looked at Bran again. “Your memories don’t come from books. Your stories aren’t just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I’d start with you,” he said.  
“How will he find you?” Tyrion asked softly.  
“His mark is on me,” Bran informed them, and rolled up one of his sleeves, revealing a deep purple hand mark. “He always knows where I am.”  
“We’ll put you in the crypt, where it’s safest,” Jon said.   
“No,” Bran told him simply. “We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys us all. I’ll wait for him in the Godswood,” he said. Now Sansa was the one who spoke up.  
“You want us to use you as bait?” she asked incredulously.  
“We’re not leaving you alone out there,” Arya agreed with her sister.  
“He won’t be,” said Theon. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn.” Sansa looked skeptical, but didn’t protest. Arya and Jon didn’t look happy about it either, but they agreed to it, knowing that it was the best option. Theon looked at Bran. “I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now,” he said. There wasn’t a trace of emotion on Bran’s face as he nodded slowly.  
“We’ll hold off the rest of them,” Ser Davos said, “for as long as we can.”   
“When the time comes,” Tyrion took over, “Ser Davos and I will be on the walls, to give you the signal to light the trench.”  
“Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own,” Daenerys argued and looked at Tyrion. “You’ll be in the crypt.” Tyrion looked unhappy.  
“Your Grace, I have fought before, I can do it again,” he insisted and looked at his queen, “alongside the men and women risking their lives.”   
“There are thousands of them, and only one of you! You can’t fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You’re here because of your mind. If we survive, I’ll need it,” Daenerys said, and Tyrion nodded slowly.  
“The dragons should give us an edge in the field,” Davos said.  
“If they’re in the field, they’re not protecting Bran,” Jon argued, and Lenore scoffed.  
“We need them in the field! That’s where they’ll be of most use! At least one of them!” she stated loudly. “I’m not going to sit around watching people die, when I could be saving them from death!”  
“Maybe you shouldn’t even be on a dragon, then!” Jon countered, and Lenore’s jaw dropped.  
"What the fuck did you just insinuate?”   
“Maybe it’s better if I fly Rhaegal!”   
“Fuck off!”  
“Lenore!” Sandor warned and grabbed her shoulder and pulled her backwards to avoid her flinging herself across the table to attack Jon.  
“I’m flying Rhaegal and that’s the end of it!” she spat and turned to Daenerys. “If you want to station Drogon by the Godswood, fine, but let me use Rhaegal to kill the damn wights,” she almost pleaded, and Daenerys nodded.  
“You will stay with us at least in the beginning. As for the rest of the time, Drogon will be guarding Bran,” Daenerys assured Jon, and he nodded.  
“We need to be near him. Not too near or the Night King won’t come. But close enough to pursue him when he does.”  
“Dragonfire will stop him?” Arya asked Bran.  
“I don’t know,” he said. “No one’s ever tried.” There was a long moment of silence, before Tormund spoke.  
“We’re all going to die,” he said, and looked at Brienne. “But at least we die together.” He smiled when he looked at her, and Lenore found it adorable. Brienne looked more disturbed.  
“Let’s get some rest…” Jon mumbled, and the room began clearing out immediately. Lenore and Sandor walked out together.  
“Do you want to try to sleep?” Sandor asked her as they walked, and she snorted loudly.  
“If you think I can sleep now, you don’t know me,” she muttered, and Sandor nodded.   
“Good,” he said. They walked along the yard, when someone called out.  
“Lenore!” Gendry shouted and jogged up to them. “Got your swords done,” he said and tossed two black weapons into the air, and Lenore caught them swiftly, grabbing the hilts and spinning then around in her hands, feeling them out. Then she smiled.  
“These will do great. Thank you. What’s that you’ve got?” she asked, nodding towards Gendry’s other hand. He held out a detachable staff with pointy dragonglass heads on both ends.  
“For Arya,” he explained, and Lenore grinned.  
“Of course. Go get her then,” she said, and Gendry nodded and was off.  
“Reckon they’ll fuck before or after the war?” Sandor asked, and Lenore smacked his arm.   
“Sandor!” she scolded.   
“What? He’s got the same dumb look on his face while talking about her as I’m sure I do when I talk about you,” he muttered, and Lenore stopped.  
“You talk about me a lot?” she asked suspiciously.  
“No. Shut up,” he grumbled, and she giggled.   
“My grouchy giant,” she said lovingly as they walked to their chamber, where they changed into heavier clothing. They helped each other into chainmails and armour, securing each other’s shoulder pauldrons.  
Sandor still wore his dragon wing pauldrons and the breastplate with the Hound and the dragon. Lenore had dragon faces on her pauldrons, and her breastplate was just black boiled leather with scales carved into it. They both attached their dragonglass weapons to their weapon belts, Sandor his great axe and Lenore her new swords. She tucked her Hound’s head necklace underneath all her clothes, and together they walked out onto the wall. Sandor had grabbed a big wineskin before they left.  
“There’s something I need to do,” Lenore said when Sandor sat down on the cold stone.   
“What’s that?” he asked and uncorked the wineskin.  
“I need to go say goodbye to Sansa before she goes to the crypt,” she answered, and when Sandor nodded, she walked off, finding the redhead up on another one of the walls, watching over the soon to be battlefield. Sansa smiled when Lenore joined her.  
“You’ll be out there, then?” Sansa asked, already knowing the answer.  
“Don’t worry, I’ll be safe on Rhaegal,” Lenore said, and took Sansa’s hands in her own. “Do you remember the battle of Blackwater?” she asked.  
“Of course,” Sansa said and squeezed Lenore’s glove clad hands.  
“When Cersei stormed out of Maegor’s Holdfast and the women began panicking, you sang a hymn. Just before I left you.”   
“Mother’s Mercy,” Sansa said breathily, remembering. Lenore nodded.   
“That one. I don’t remember all the words…”  
“Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray…” Sansa began singing.   
“Stay the swords, and stay the arrows, let them know a better day…” Lenore remembered the words and sang with Sansa. _   
_

_ Gentle Mother, strength of women,  
_ _ Help our daughters through this fray.  
_ _ Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,  
_ _ Teach us all a kinder way. _

_   
_ _ Gentle Mother, font of mercy,  
_ _ Save our sons from war, we pray.  
_ _ Stay the swords and stay the arrows,  
_ _ Let them know a better day. _

_   
_ _ Gentle Mother, font of mercy,  
_ _ Save our sons from war, we pray.  
_ _ Stay the swords and stay the arrows,  
_ _ Let them know a better day. _

Lenore and Sansa smiled at each other when they finished singing. For a moment it was as if they were the only two people in the world. But the world came back to them quickly, and they realised everyone around them had stopped temporarily to listen to them. Lenore blushed, realising that this was the first time she had sung for any human, ever. Sansa wrapped her arms around Lenore and clutched her tight, like she was afraid she’d turn to dust. When she pulled away, she had tears in her eyes.  
“I wish you good fortune, my Lady,” she said, and Lenore smiled sadly.  
“I’ll see you when it’s over,” Lenore responded, and they broke away from each other, Lenore returning to Sandor on the other wall. She sat down on the stony ground and put her legs over Sandor’s, and he brought his hand down to rub her calves.  
“Pretty song,” he said.   
“You heard us?” Lenore asked and blushed again.  
“Sound carries up high,” Sandor said and looked at her fondly. They sat in silence for a while, before Arya Stark came walking towards them from inside. Sandor took a deep swig from his wineskin and Arya stopped in front of them without a word. He looked up at her. When he didn’t say anything, she sat down next to him and extended her hand, reaching for the wineskin. She still didn’t speak, and apparently it made Sandor uncomfortable.  
“You never used to shut up, now you’re just sitting there like a mute,” he said, not looking at her. She was quiet for yet another while before answering.  
“Guess I’ve changed,” she stated calmly. Sandor didn’t say anything, only cracked a knuckle. Lenore didn’t know what to say either, she just listened. “What are you doing up here?” Arya asked Sandor.  
“What’s it look like?” he asked, rolling his eyes in annoyance.  
“No, I mean, what are you doing  _ up here? _ You made peace with the Brotherhood, you went beyond the Wall with Jon, you’re here now, why?” Arya asked with a frown. “When was the last time you fought for anyone but yourself?” Sandor turned his head to look at her fondly.  
“Been fighting for Lenore for years. And I fought for you, didn’t I?” he asked her, completely sincere in his tone. Lenore bit back a smile as Arya didn’t know what to say. Arya almost looked sad, and she handed the wineskin back to Sandor. From the other direction, Beric Dondarrion came walking towards them. “Oh for fuck’s sake… this will be a bloody wedding,” Sandor muttered when Beric stood in front of him. Beric smiled before he looked at Arya.  
“My Lady. It’s good to see you again. I’m sorry we parted the way we did,” he said, and Arya looked completely blank. Sandor suddenly looked up at Beric and then at Arya.  
“Was he on your list?” he asked hopefully.  
“For a little while,” Arya answered.  
“That’s alright,” Beric said and sat down on a barrel opposite them. “The Lord of Light has brought us together all the same. This is his moment. When light-”   
“Thoros isn’t here anymore, so I hope you’re not about to give a sermon!” Sandor cut him off. “Cause if you are, the Lord of Light’s gonna wonder why he brought you back nineteen times just to watch you die when I chuck you over this fucking wall,” he growled. Beric just smiled. Lenore stifled a laugh. Beric then reached for the wineskin which Sandor tossed at him. Arya rolled her eyes and stood up. “Where are you going?” Sandor asked her.  
“I’m not spending my final hours with you miserable shits,” she said and left. Lenore laughed out loud at her statement, and Sandor grunted something under his breath, but none of them could deny that she was right. Somehow, time passed even faster than usual, and it didn’t take long before the shuffling around began, and it was time to get ready. Lenore hadn’t felt any fear or anxiety up until this point, where she knew she would have to leave Sandor. They both got up, and Lenore put her hands on Sandor’s chest, trying to find words. Whenever she tried to speak, more anxiety clawed at her and the words died in her throat, so instead she went for a kiss, but Sandor took her face in his hands and held her still, instead leaning his forehead against hers.  
“When we return,” he told her. She swallowed hard, and tears burned behind her eyes as she nodded.  
“When we return.”


	57. The Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I say finally? Or already?

Lenore ran towards the dragons, and on her way there, she saw Varys and Tyrion on their way towards the crypts. She threw her arms around Varys, kissed his cheek, then leaned down and encircled Tyrion in a hug as well before pulling back. They nodded at each other, and Lenore kept jogging the other way, passing Ser Jorah who had just been given a sword by Samwell Tarly. She briefly stopped in front of him.  
“I wish you good fortune,” Ser Jorah said, taking one of Lenore’s hands and pressing a kiss to it.  
“And you, Ser. I’ll see you again when it’s over,” she said with a small smile before she was off again. Jon and Daenerys were already there waiting for Lenore. Her saddle was already fastened on Rhaegal’s neck. Jon and Lenore nodded at each other, and Lenore climbed onto Rhaegal, not fastening herself in the saddle yet. Jon and Daenerys both got on Drogon’s back, and together the three of them flew over the walls of Winterfell towards the Godswood. As they flew, Lenore saw that the catapults had indeed been moved behind the walls, and she softened slightly towards Jon because he had listened to Sandor.  
They landed on a hill near the Godswood, and from this point they had a good view of everything. They all climbed off the dragons and stood on the hill to watch the battlefield. The Dothraki were on the front line, with the Unsullied behind them. Ser Jorah, and Jon’s direwolf Ghost, were with the Dothraki as well. On the right flank were the Northmen along with Tormund, Gendry, Beric and Sandor. On the left flank stood Brienne, with Jaime, Podrick and the knights of the Vale. It was dead silent and no one spoke as they waited. A lone rider came through the night, on a black horse. The rider was draped in all red. Lenore wondered if it could possibly be… The rider stopped in front of Ser Jorah and the Dothraki, and she spoke to him. Jorah spoke to the Dothraki, and they raised their arrakhs. The rider put her hand on the closet arakh to her, and began speaking in Valyrian.  
Suddenly, the night filled with fire as ten thousand Dothraki arakhs were set ablaze. Yes, it was the Red Woman, and she had just done the same thing to the Dothraki horde’s weapons as Beric Dondarrion did to his sword. It riled them up and they all started cheering and yelling. The Red Woman continued riding, and they opened the gate for her, and Lenore lost sight of her. Suddenly, the Dothraki charged, and Lenore’s eyes widened. They rode into the unknown, charged into the darkness.  
“You!” Lenore shouted at Jon, who looked back at her mournfully. “You idiot! What did you do!?”  
“This was-”   
“You went behind our backs after accepting Sandor’s strategy! But you don’t speak their language,” she said, and looked at Daenerys. Daenerys looked ashamed, but said nothing. A low snarl rumbled in Lenore’s throat as she watched the Dothraki along with Ser Jorah and Ghost disappear into the darkness. From behind the walls, flaming balls were shot from the catapults, flying over the Dothraki into the darkness. Their screams quieted down, and one by one, the flames from their arakhs went out. Daenerys was breathing shallowly as she watched them fearfully. When the last flame went out, she turned to Lenore.  
“I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” And she looked it, but Lenore only glared at her. With determined steps she marched back to Rhaegal, climbed onto his back and began strapping herself into the saddle. “Laenerys, please stay with us!” Daenerys begged, but Lenore took no notice of her as she watched the battlefield. A few horses came galloping back, terrified. After them, some Dothraki on foot came running, and Ser Jorah, still on his horse, but wounded. When Daenerys saw what was happening, she took a step back, but Jon grabbed her arm.  
“The Night King is coming,” he said.  
“The dead are already here,” Daenerys snarled and ripped free from him, climbing atop Drogon ready to take off.  
“You can’t leave me alone here!” Jon insisted.  
“Then get behind me!” Lenore yelled, because Daenerys had already taken flight. Jon knew that Lenore would definitely leave him there if he didn’t hurry, so he ran to her and climbed onto Rhaegal’s back, and then they were off.  
The army of the dead was completely swamping the front lines, snarling and ripping their way through the Unsullied. They were dying like flies, and Brienne’s flank and Sandor’s flank were being attacked as well. They were completely overwhelmed, and if Rhaegal and Drogon hadn’t flown over them in that moment, they surely would have died. Without even being told to, the dragons rained fire on the wights, relieving the front lines greatly. Rhaegal flew past one off the walls, where Lenore spotted Sansa and Arya. She briefly had time to wonder why Sansa wasn’t already in the crypt, before Jon gave a dramatic yell as Rhaegal turned, breathing fire on another row of wights, as Drogon took a third.  
They flew deeper into enemy lines, over the forest, and then, white. Snow. Storm. The White Walkers’ storm completely engulfed them, and Lenore couldn’t see a thing. Daenerys whimpered, and Drogon breathed fire down on the wights, but his fires went out as soon as the snow storm swallowed them. Lenore covered her eyes with her hand and screamed as Rhaegal plunged down into the trees. Jon could duck to avoid getting hit, but the rough branches cut up Lenore’s face and she cried out in pain before yanking on Rhaegal’s horns. He screeched and turned upwards again, flying into the sky and - dragon screech, human scream, crash. Daenerys. Drogon. The two dragons crashed into each other midair. Jon almost lost his grip, but Lenore sat tight and steady in her saddle.  
As they all regained control, they flew alongside each other, trying to see anything, trying to get out of the damned snow storm. All they could see were more wights running towards Winterfell. Distantly, Lenore heard screaming, but she couldn’t make out any words. Then they lost sight of Drogon.  
“DANY!” Jon screamed as Rhaegal turned the other way. They could see the Godswood underneath them, with Bran sitting by the Weirwood tree, and Theon and the Ironborn around him with bows and arrows. Rhaegal landed briefly atop one of the castle walls as Lenore and Jon looked around themselves, trying to see what was going on. They were falling back, retreating inside the walls, Lenore realised. The outer layer of protection was gone, only the Unsullied were there with the unlit trench. Lenore grabbed onto Rhaegal’s horns again. “Laenerys, no!” Jon shouted from behind her. He wanted to remain here to protect Bran. But Lenore ignored him, flying Rhaegal off the roof and over to the battlefield where she knew they were of most use.  
The army of wights were absolutely trampling the Unsullied, hissing and snarling as they climbed over them. Rhaegal opened his mouth and with a screech, breathed fire on the dead, as the living fled inside the castle walls. She tried to make out Sandor anywhere, looking for someone who was taller than the others, but she couldn’t see through the snow and the fire, and everyone moved so fast. What she did hear, was the Unsullied yelling “light the trench”. It was Drogon’s job, and Daenerys’. Atop the wall, Lenore saw Davos wave the torches and give the signal. Daenerys was nowhere to be seen, though. Lenore was about to steer Rhaegal closer and have him light the trench, but he was heading the other way, and the snowstorm engulfed them again, swallowing Rhaegal’s fire.  
Lenore cried out in frustration as she steadied her grip on his horns, laying her head between them to avoid being blinded by the snow. Then all of a sudden, her view lit up. The clouds ahead of her scattered, and the trench that was dug all the way around Winterfell caught fire, giving her a clear view. The Red Woman. Lenore regained her confidence and set fire to a new round of wights underneath her.

Sandor saw the trench light up, and his blood froze. Fire. He took a step back and looked around himself. The wights that had been chasing them, had stopped on the other side of the flaming trench, just staring. In the far distance, Sandor could see the two dragons outside the walls breathing fire.  
“Clegane!” Beric called, but he didn’t listen. This was all too much, he hated the heat of the fire and he could almost feel his face pressed into it once again, and he gave up the fight, leaving Beric alone as he walked away.

Lenore watched in horror from the sky as the wights somehow came up with the idea to form a dead-man barricade, sacrificing several of their own soldiers to form a bridge over the trench, extinguishing the fire in just that once place, and they ran over it. Jon was oddly quiet behind her, so she looked back to see if he had fallen off. He hadn’t, he was still there, only looking the other direction. Lenore followed his eyes to see what he was looking at.  
There, up in the sky, was Viserion, darker than ever and his wings full of holes. His eyes were blue as the Night King’s, who was sitting on his back. It was so perverse, and Lenore growled angrily. The Night King and Viserion disappeared behind the clouds again, and with a tug on his horns, Rhaegal turned and flew after them.

The wights were inside the walls, they were up on the walls. Sandor stood behind a post, hyperventilating as fire and death raged all around them. They were all done for, he knew it, and there was nothing they could do.  
“Clegane!” Beric shouted, fighting off wights from all angles. “Clegane, we need you!” Somehow, he and his flaming sword got closer. “You can’t give up on us!”   
“Fuck off!” Sandor shouted, spit flying as he did. “We can’t beat them! Don’t you see that, you stupid whore!?” he cried. “We’re fighting death! We can’t beat death!” In the distance there was a familiar scream.  
“Tell her that!” Beric yelled, pointing to the wall opposite them, where Arya Stark jumped along the roof, running from wights that fell all around her. Sandor’s eyes widened and he forgot all about the fire as he ran after the girl, knowing only that he couldn’t let her die.

Lenore, Jon and Rhaegal were chasing the Night King and Viserion through the clouds, but as they broke through them, it was Daenerys and Drogon that they saw. They were above the clouds now, in the cold night air, with the moon above them, and it was difficult to breathe. If she had been able to breathe properly, and if they weren’t under the threat of imminent death, Lenore would have called the view beautiful. They all looked around themselves after the Night King, but saw no trace of him. Not until clear blue flame shot out from nowhere, engulfing Daenerys and Drogon, and they took off with a scream. Viserion chased right after Drogon, spouting his blue flame at his tail. His screeches were shrill and he appeared broken.  
As they dove downwards again, Rhaegal chased after Viserion, but he disappeared into the clouds, leaving Drogon and Rhaegal above them. Jon and Daenerys looked at each other from the dragon’s backs, and Lenore snarled, diving into clouds to find the Night King despite Daenerys shouting after her. But then Drogon dove right after Rhaegal.  
The Night King flew Viserion right over Winterfell and his blue flame threatened to destroy the castle, but Rhaegal was right after him, coming and closer and closer until he opened his mouth and bit down on Viserion’s tail, making him screech in pain. Lenore gave a triumphant laugh before gritting her teeth. Viserion turned, Rhaegal’s claws on his belly, and he reached forward and attacked Rhaegal’s neck, biting down, and taking a good chunk out of Lenore’s calf as well, and her blood froze before it even ran down her leg. She whimpered and screamed in pain as she buried her face between Rhaegal’s horns and reached for one of her dragonglass swords. Maybe if she got close enough she could reach for the Night King.  
The two dragons bit and clawed at each other in the sky. Jon held on for dear life and Lenore cried in pain and panic, desperately trying to see. Rhaegal bit at Viserion’s neck, Viserion clawed at Rhaegal’s belly and they both shrieked loudly. Viserion’s teeth were suddenly on Jon, ripping at him but only managing to grab his fur coat, flinging it off. Then Rhaegal went for Viserion’s face, biting down. Lenore snarled as she saw the Night King, with his ice spear raised in his hand. She raised her sword as well, ready to battle to death, but Rhaegal tore off part of Viserion’s face, and blue flame spouted all around them, coming from the undead dragon’s mouth _and _neck now.  
Jon screamed from behind her, trying to avoid the flames. With one hand on her sword and one hand clutching her belly, Lenore yelled as she was about to attack, but out of nowhere came the huge red claws of Drogon, kicking the Night King off Viserion’s back. Lenore watched him drop his spear and fall through the sky. Drogon tore at Viserion’s neck, as the wounded Rhaegal flew towards the ground. He sprinted forward as he landed, snow storming all around them, and Jon lost his grip, falling off the dragon and plunging into the snow.  
“I’m sorry!” Lenore shouted, having only one thing on her mind now. _Sandor._ The castle was surrounded by fire, inside the walls was fire, fire was everywhere. She had to get to him.  
“Laenerys!” Jon yelled after her as she yanked at Rhaegal’s horns again.  
“I’m sorry, I have to get to him! I have to protect my husband!”  
“LENORE!”  
“I’m not letting my baby grow up without a father!” she screamed, and before Jon could protest, she had taken off again. She hadn’t told anyone else she was pregnant, and right now it was the only thing that drove her. She faintly heard Drogon spit fire as she left, but she didn’t know what was happening as she flew back towards the castle. The harnesses were still around her ankles holding her securely as she watched the battle, trying to determine which way to go.  
A huge band of wights were rising up right underneath her. They had been destroyed once, but along with the dead Northerners, they rose once more, and were leaping towards the wall, so that’s where she went, pulling out both her swords and steering Rhaegal low enough that his feet were almost touching the ground. He spat fire on the wights in front of him, and Lenore leaned down to the right, slashing two wights to her side, then she leaned to her left, cutting the head of a wight who tried to escape, then back right, slashing her swords from side to side as the harnesses held her steady. She continued slashing through the wights until Rhaegal went back up, avoiding hitting the wall with only inches. With a grunt she reached down and unclasped herself from the saddle, balancing in it as she got up, and when Rhaegal flew over the wall, she jumped with a violent scream.  
Her injured leg was pulsating as she landed, but she marched forward, determined to find Sandor. The door in front of her shot open, and tens of wights came running at her. She stopped in her tracks and spun her swords in her hands, tightening her grip on them. The wights ran at her, and she made use of every move she had learned throughout the years. Sandor’s stomach kicks sent wights flying around her, Arya’s smooth spinning maneuvers sent wight heads flying, Grey Worm’s spearing went straight through the guts of another set of wights. Gendry’s hacking and hammering sent destroyed wights over the edges of the wall, and Ser Jorah’s clean cuts took the head of the last wight in front of her. She breathed deeply when they were all gone, and she kept marching.  
In behind the door, through a corridor. One wight came at her and with a crossing of her swords she cut it’s head off with a yell. The corridor led her up and out on another wall, where another set of wights came charging at her. One of them got a slash in at her arm before she put her sword through its eye, and took out another on her other side. But they just kept piling on, almost as if multiplying. Angry tears burned in Lenore’s eyes and she yelled and screamed as she slashed through the wights with her swords.  
She wasn’t dying, her baby baby wasn’t dying, her husband wasn’t dying. Not today. That’s what she told herself over and over as she pillaged through the dead men, climbing over the new bodies she created, running into more and more of them. _Sandor_. She took the heads off of two wights. _My baby._ She stuck another in the chest. _Sandor._ Something came at her from behind and brought her to her knees. _My baby. _She cut around her, destroying the wight which had brought her down. _Sandor._ As she tried to get up, a bony hand grabbed her wrist and as she ran, she heard it crack. _My baby. _She screamed and stabbed the wight holding her through its head, and as she went for another one, something slashed as her leg from behind, bringing her onto one knee again. _Sandor._ _I’m going to die. Our baby’s going to die.  
_ She cried desperately as one of her swords were taken from her and chucked away. She raised her only remaining weapon, and didn’t mind where she was aiming it. She slashed angrily and frantically around her, but she hit nothing at all. Through her freezing tears she still saw them fall. Every wight around her fell in silence, and she looked to her right. They were all dead. She looked to her left. They were all dead. She looked behind her. They were all dead. She looked in front of her. __Sandor. There he was, on the other side of the wall, alive, looking at her.  
With a broken gasp she dropped her remaining sword, hurled herself off of the stone ground and ran, as best she could on her limping legs. Sandor ran as well, and nothing around them mattered anymore as Lenore threw herself into his arms and kissed him with a fever she’d never known before. Her body was frozen but her injuries pulsed hot, and before she could fall to the ground he had caught her in his arms, wrapping his strong ones around her. She desperately clawed at his shoulders as she steadied her arms around him. Sandor’s hand grabbed at her neck, clutching her hard as he held onto her with all he had, here during the end of the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow Lenore, way to drop your own secret in the middle of a war...


	58. Aftermath

Sandor and Lenore didn’t let go of each other as the battle died down around them. Someone had gotten to the Night King and killed him, and that’s why the all the wights had died, that was the only explanation. The Red Woman, Melisandre, came walking from behind them, and she went past them, walking down and out the gate. Sandor and Lenore watched as she dropped her cape, walked through the heaps of dead men, took her necklace off, threw it in the snow and kept going. Her hair faded from red to grey, and when she was far enough out, she fell onto her knees. Her dress slid off of her and she fell into a heap, dead.  
Lenore exhaled, allowing her head to fall back on Sandor’s chest as she watched in resignation. She barely knew the woman, but the sight was tragic. For another few moments, she just stayed where she was, hiding from reality in Sandor’s arms. He was sweating and covered in blood, but seemed relatively unharmed, compared to Lenore who had a scraped up face, a dislocated wrist and a chewed on and slashed up calf.  
“Beric’s dead,” Sandor said quietly. Lenore looked up at him.  
“How?”   
“Took at least seven knives to him as he held the wights off, allowing me and Arya to get to safety,” he told her. She nodded slowly.  
“No coming back this time…” she mumbled, and Sandor shook his head.  
“No. Come on, we have to see who else…” he said softly, wrapping one of Lenore’s arms around his shoulders to hold her up as they walked. They walked along the walls, searching the dead for anyone they knew. The first familiar faces they saw were Brienne and Jaime. Brienne was still alive, but very wounded. She cradled Jaime’s dead body in her arms and cried. Lenore couldn’t help feeling bad, no matter how much she hated the Lannister man. He had abandoned Cersei to come North and fight with them, and now he had died in the arms of the woman he loved - truly loved. Podrick was leaning against the wall a bit away. Lenore and Sandor kept walking, down into the castle and out again, where Arya appeared, face bloody and sweaty.  
“Did you do it, then?” Sandor asked, and the exhausted Arya nodded.  
“Do what?” Lenore asked breathily. Arya smiled shyly. “You didn’t!”  
“I did,” the girl said.   
“ _ You  _ killed the Night King!?” Lenore exclaimed, and Arya nodded again.  
“I knew you could do it,” Sandor praised.   
“You’re fucking incredible!” Lenore exhaled and flung her arms around Arya, embracing her tightly before her dislocated wrist twinged in pain and she had to pull back. Arya ran off, and Sandor and Lenore kept walking.  
As they turned the corner, they saw Drogon. He was guarding Daenerys closely, as she sat on the ground, crying, cradling Ser Jorah in her arms. Lenore’s mouth fell open and she didn’t want to believe what she was seeing. She stumbled forward, out of Sandor’s reach and fell to her knees next to her sobbing sister and the dead knight. Daenerys looked up at her, and all Lenore could do was wrap her arms around her crying sister, trying to soothe her, even as she felt empty inside as well. Jon came stumbling towards them, sword clutched tightly, looking completely disheveled. Lenore turned to look at him.  
“Bran?” she asked.   
“Alive. Theon’s dead. Edd’s dead. Lyanna Mormont’s dead. Tormund’s alive. Gendry’s alive,” Jon responded, his voice choppy. “Rhaegal?”  
“Flew off,” Lenore said. Jon nodded. “Dany… Dany we have to get up,” she whispered into her sobbing sister’s ear. Daenerys still had her hand on Ser Jorah’s cheek.  
“He died protecting me,” she cried, and Lenore’s heart broke again.  
“Then he died the only way he wanted to,” she said, kissing Daenerys’ forehead before using Sandor as leverage to pull herself upright again. They left Jon, Daenerys and Drogon with Jorah’s body as they made their way across the battlefield. Destroyed wights littered the ground along with dead Northmen, knights of the Vale, Unsullied and Dothraki. It was a terrible sight. They entered the castle through another door, and it didn’t take long before Sansa was running towards Lenore. She was about to leap for a desperate hug, but when she saw how badly Lenore was limping, she stopped herself.  
“You survived,” she almost sobbed and ran her hands down Lenore’s bloody face. Lenore chuckled tiredly.  
“I told you I would,” she said, and tears fell down Sansa’s face. Tyrion and Varys appeared behind her, unharmed. They nodded at each other, everyone too damaged and exhausted to talk. Only then did Lenore collapse from her pain and everything went black.  
The next time she woke up, she was lying on a bed in a warm room. Her head was spinning and her arm and leg were still pulsating. Her arm was wrapped in a sling that reached around her neck, and her damaged leg was all bandaged up. Her face had been washed and it was itching as all the little scabs were forming. She groaned as she sat up, and a healer came towards her. She shot out her good arm and grabbed the healer’s dress, pulling her face towards her.  
“My baby,” she growled.  
“Your baby is alright in there,” the healer informed her, and she let go of the dress and fell back down on the bed with a sigh of relief. “Your husband is outside, very worried for you. I’m afraid he might kick the door in if I keep him waiting,” the healer said softly.  
“Did you tell him? About the…” Lenore mumbled, putting her hand on her belly.  
“No.” The healer shook her head.  
“Good,” Lenore groaned, and Sandor came barging through the door, still bloody and sweaty. She didn’t know how long had passed, but Sandor hadn’t used that time to clean himself up, that was for sure.  
“Lenore,” he exclaimed when he was next to her.  
“I’m alright, my love, I’m alright,” she assured him, putting her hand on his cheek. “Help me up.”   
“You shouldn’t-”   
“Help me up, gods damn it,” she demanded, and Sandor chuckled. He helped her out of the bed and she tested her ability to stand. Her leg pulsed painfully, and the healer was next to her in an instant, handing her a crutch. “Thank you,” Lenore said. “Can I go?”  
“If you must,” the healer said, clearly displeased.  
“I must,” Lenore assured, and the healer shrugged. She followed Sandor outside, limping witch every step she took. When they reached the yard, the funeral pyres were already built, and bodies were on them. There were at least a hundred pyres, Lenore estimated. Daenerys stood over Ser Jorah’s body, crying as she said goodbye. Sansa was sobbing over Theon’s body, taking off her direwolf pin and pinning it on him. Brienne, with tears in her eyes relieved Jaime’s body of the golden hand. Then they all retreated into the crowd. Jon’s direwolf Ghost was still alive, standing beside him, very wounded and missing an ear. Arya had cleaned up, and she was donning plenty of scabs and bruises. Bran sat next to her in his wooden chair. Jon walked forward, taking it upon himself to give the speech.  
“We’re here to say goodbye to our brothers and sisters,” he began, “to our fathers, and mothers. To our friends, our fellow men and women who set aside their differences to fight together, and die together, so that others might live! Everyone in this world owes them a debt that can never be repaid! It is our duty, and honour, to keep them alive in our memory, for those who come after us, and those who come after them, for as long as men draw breath! They were the shields that guarded the realms of men, and we shall never see their like again!”   
Jon, Sam, Grey Worm, Tormund, Daenerys, Sansa and Arya were handed torches, and together they walked forward, lighting the funeral pyres. Then they walked back to the crowd, and everyone watched in silence as the pyres burned, black smoke filling the sky in front of them.   
They took the day to mourn the dead, and the night to celebrate their victory. Lenore hadn’t worn a red dress since the Dragonpit gathering, but for the celebration tonight she put on a deep red and black gown with scales on the bodice and sleeves. The black skirt flowed as she walked, and hid the bandages around her leg. Sandor had finally cleaned himself off and taken off his armour, and they headed to the great hall together. It was already full, and they sat down at a table in the middle of the room, opposite Gendry. Sansa, Jon and Daenerys sat by the great table up front, and Daenerys was also wearing a deep red and black dress in Targaryen honour.  
They were served food, and Sandor quickly dug in, rushing as he basically threw the food into his mouth. Lenore ate more carefully. Gendry sipped his wine as he looked around anxiously.  
“Have you seen Arya?” he asked, and Sandor glared up at him.  
“You can still smell the burning bodies, and that’s where your head is at?” he asked scoldingly. Gendry got defensive immediately.  
“I just want to thank her, for-”   
“I’m sure you do,” Sandor cut him off, knowing exactly how he wanted to thank her.  
“Look, it’s not about that!”  
“Of course it’s about that, you twat. Why shouldn’t it be? The dead are dead, you’re not.” Sandor drank his wine, and Gendry nodded, then he left the table. Before he could leave the room, however, Daenerys called out.  
“Gendry!” her voice rang through the room and everyone quieted down. Gendry stopped and walked in front of the great table. “That’s right, isn’t it?” Daenerys asked.  
“Yes, your Grace,” Gendry said and bowed his head.  
“You’re Robert Baratheon’s son,” Daenerys stated, and Gendry nodded slightly. “You are aware he took my family’s throne, and tried to have me murdered,” she said. Lenore shut her eyes, hoping Daenerys wasn’t about to do something rash and uncalled for.  
“I didn’t even know he was my father until after he was dead,” Gendry said.  
“Yes, he’s dead. His brothers are too. So who’s Lord of Storm’s End now?” Daenerys asked.  
“I don’t know, your Grace.”   
“Does anyone?” Daenerys asked louder. No one in the room said anything, because no one knew. “I think  _ you _ should be Lord of Storm’s End.” Gendry looked shocked, his eyes wide and he shook his head slightly. Lenore smiled.  
“I can’t be, I’m a bastard,” he mumbled breathily.   
“No,” Daenerys disagreed. “You are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End, the lawful son of Robert Baratheon, because that is what I have made you.” She smiled, and Gendry still looked completely shocked, but happy. Ser Davos stood up.  
“To Lord Gendry Baratheon, of Storm’s End!” he cheered and raised his cup. The rest of the room chimed in, cheering and raising their cups for Gendry, except Sandor who just shovelled food into his mouth, not caring who was Lord of what shit end. Gendry revelled in the attention for a while, before he snuck out of the room to find Arya.  
“Can’t blame him for wanting to fuck again after this,” Sandor said to Lenore, who frowned.  
“Wait,  _ again _ ? They already did it?” she asked and looked at him.  
“Aye.”   
“How do you know that?”  
“Who do you think found them together?” Sandor retorted, giving Lenore a meaning look, and she burst into a fit of laughter.  
“Aww…” she mumbled, and Sandor shook his head.  
“No, not ‘aww’, it was disgusting,” he muttered. “On hay sacks all curled up together.” He stuck his tongue out in a disgusted grimace. “She’s too young.”   
“She’s two years older than I was when you married me,” Lenore said seriously, and Sandor’s eyes widened. He looked mortified.  
“That’s not true,” he demanded.  
“Yes it is,” said Lenore.  
“How did you not think I was completely fucking disgusting?” he asked incredulously.  
“I did,” she teased, and gave him a kiss before getting up, grabbing her crutch and limping over to chat with Tyrion and Davos. Sandor ripped the wine flagon out of the hand of a passing serving maid. Lenore listened as Davos and Tyrion spoke about Melisandre’s death, and then she walked up to them.  
“Ah, our dragon riding warrior!” Tyrion cheered and raised his cup to her. Davos joined in, and Lenore chuckled. Tyrion went to pour her a cup of wine.  
“Oh, no thank you,” she said hastily, and Tyrion frowned, then drank the wine himself before going over to talk to Bran a bit away.  
“You saw it happen,” Davos then said to Lenore.   
“Saw what?”   
“Melisandre’s death,” he clarified.  
“Yes. I don’t quite understand what happened…”   
“That fucking necklace. Got some magic behind it. She was old. Older than it made her look,” Ser Davos muttered, and Lenore nodded slowly.  
“All of it! Come on,” Tormund urged Jon as he held out his horn full of liquor.  
“No, not in one go,” Jon refused. Lenore looked over to them and watched with mild amusement.   
“Go on, I believe in you,” Sansa challenged.  
“We have to celebrate our victory!” Tormund insisted.  
“Vomiting is not celebrating,” Jon said.  
“Yes it is,” Tormund argued and everyone laughed. “To the dragon queen!” he yelled, then he gulped down all the liquor himself and it ran down his beard. Everyone raised their cups and cheered for Daenerys, who stood up.  
“To Arya Stark, the hero of Winterfell!” she cheered, and Lenore took Davos’ cup from him and raised is as high as she could with a loud cheer. Then she handed it back with an apologetic smile, and Davos only chuckled. As Jon and Daenerys smiled at each other, Sansa got up and left her seat. Daenerys returned to her seat and dropped her smile fast. The drunken Tormund went on praising Jon Snow to the gods, telling stories about how he rode the dragon, saying that’s why they made him king! They all looked happy, but Daenerys who sat a bit away from them, didn’t. She looked rather miserable watching everyone so happy. Jon was happy with the wildings, Lenore looked thrilled as she shared the story of fighting on a dragon with Sansa and a group of Northern women. Tyrion laughed as he joked and played games with Brienne and Podrick. Everyone got along without her, and she stood up and left the room.  
Lenore was quickly yanked backwards by Tormund who took her under his arm, shoving her inside his circle of friends.  
“And you! You looked like some fucking warrior goddess when you came down on that beast swinging your swords around side to side!” he yelled, clapped her on the back and they cheered her.  
“You saw me?” she asked in surprise and grinned.   
“I fucking saw you! Blood of the dragon I’ll say! Drink!” he shouted, and put his big horn in front of her.  
“No thank you!” she turned it down with a smile and pushed the horn aside, and Jon looked at her carefully. She shook his head at him. He was the only person except for that healer who knew she was pregnant. She would kill him if he told anyone.  
Tormund soon departed from the group to go seek out his big woman, as he called her. She didn’t seem interested in talking to him, instead she left the room. Then Lenore lost track of Tormund as she was once again pulled into a cheer, not quite knowing who they were cheering this time, but she went along with it anyway.  
“And after all that…” Tormund panted with tears in his eyes. “This fucker came North and took her from me. Now he’s dead and she still prefers him,” he cried. “I mean it, Clegane, my heart is broken,” he said and put his hand on Sandor’s back.  
“Don’t touch me,” Sandor muttered.  
“You can touch  _ me _ ,” a woman said out of nowhere. Tormund shot back and looked at her, seemingly forgetting his heartbreak. “I’m not afraid of wildings…” she said.  
“Maybe you should be,” Tormund retorted, and stood up, wrapping his arm around the girl. “Well Clegane, it’s time to drown our sorrows,” he said.  
“I’m not done with my drink,” Sandor grumbled. The other woman sat down next to him and watched as he chugged his wine.  
“Are you ready now?” she asked seductively. Sandor grabbed the wine flagon and poured another cup. “ _ This  _ is my drink. And I have a wife who’ll rip your hair out and strangle you with it if she sees you touching me,” he snarled.   
“The damaged one? She doesn’t need to know…” the woman murmured, stroking his arm, and Sandor barked loudly at her, scaring her away.  
Lenore watched as Sandor scared off the Northern girl, and as she came closer to her, Lenore stuck her crutch out and almost tripped the girl, who gasped and glared at her.  
“You! Just because I’m half a cripple right now, doesn’t mean you get to try and steal my husband,” she snarled, and hit the girl with her crutch. “Get the fuck away from me,” she muttered and the girl ran away.  Sansa Stark, who had been watching Sandor as well, came forward and sat down across from him.  
“She could’ve made you happy, for a little while,” she said.  
“What can I say? I’m loyal,” Sandor muttered. “Not many things make me happy.”   
“What does?” Sansa asked.   
“That’s my fucking business,” he snarked. Sansa didn’t flinch, only watched him with mild interest. “Used to be you couldn’t look at me,” he muttered  
“That was a long time ago. I’ve seen  _ much _ worse than you since then,” she said.  
“Yes I’ve heard. Heard you were broken in. Heard you were broken in rough,” he heard himself say, not sure why he said it. Back in the day, he used to tell her mean things to harden her, to scare her, but he wasn’t trying to do that any longer, so why was he so mean?  
“And he got what he deserved. I gave it to him,” was all Sansa said in response. She had hardened, alright.  
“How?” Sandor asked, wondering if he cared.  
“Hounds,” Sansa said, and an involuntary chuckle came from him at the irony. Sansa smiled slightly.  
“You’ve changed, little bird,” he told her, raising his cup and drinking. “None of it would’ve happened if you left King’s Landing with us. No Littlefinger, no Ramsay, none of it,” he said and shook his head. To his surprise, she reached forward and took his hand. He glared up at her.  
“Without Littlefinger and Ramsay and the rest, I would have stayed a little bird all my life,” she said. Before she had the chance to stand up, Lenore was next to them.  
“You flirting with my man, Sansa?” she asked, a teasing tone, but laced with underlying seriosity. Sansa smiled and withdrew her hand, standing up.  
“Just catching up,” she said, before leaving. Lenore sat down next to Sandor and raised her eyebrow at him.  
“You’re very popular,” she said, making him chuckle.  
“Of course you were watching,” he scolded, shaking his head.  
“Yes,” Lenore admitted. Sandor squinted at her serious face.   
“You’re jealous,” he accused.  
“Yes,” she said again. With a growl, Sandor grabbed Lenore’s face and leaned down to kiss her hard. Open mouth, tongue, lip biting, all of it, in front of everyone. She was breathless when he pulled away.  
“ _ That  _ makes me happy,” he said, and Lenore giggled. “Come on.” He stood up and picked Lenore up, carrying her bridal style. “The dead are dead. We’re not,” he told her, and walked them out of the room and into their chamber, where he kicked open the door and walked them to the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I killed Jaime Lannister. Rather him than his redemption arc!


	59. Aegon

Everyone who wasn’t too wounded after the battle was now helping rebuild Winterfell. Trees were being cut down, logs were being carried, blood was being washed off the floors and walls. Lenore belonged to the category of those who _were _too wounded.  
“Shh,” she whispered to the woman who pointed that out to her when she grabbed a rag and began scrubbing a bloody spot in front of her. She sat on her butt on the floor and scrubbed until it was clean, then moved on to the next spot in the same way. Until Jon Snow approached her.  
“Lenore,” he said, looking rather pained. She stopped scrubbing and looked up at him.  
“Yes?” she asked.  
“I have to tell you something…” he mumbled, looking away as if he couldn’t face her. She frowned and stood up, taking a step closer to him.  
“Tell me,” she said.  
“Not here. Come,” Jon said, leading her away from the crowds to a place in the yard where they were alone.  
“What is it?” she asked when they stopped.  
“Bran and Sam, they told me something. Sam read about it in a book, Bran saw it in a vision.”  
“Saw what?” Lenore pressed.  
“You and I are related,” Jon finally managed to spit out. She took a step back. That was not what she expected.  
“What?” she asked shrilly.  
“Your brother Rhaegar… he didn’t rape my aunt Lyanna, as people think. He loved her. They were married. She died in childbirth and gave the baby to her brother, Ned, and he...”  
“Stop it,” Lenore warned, eyebrows wound tight together and her hand forward. Her mind was racing ahead of her, imagining where this was going to end.  
“You’re my aunt. Your baby-”  
“Shut up!” she hissed, laying her hand over her belly and looking around them to see that no one was nearby to hear.  
“Your baby is going to be my cousin.”  
“Stop it, Jon, why are you telling me-”  
“My name isn’t Jon Snow, it’s Aegon Targaryen.”  
“No!” Lenore whisper-shouted in frustration. “You say they were married! That would make you-”  
“Heir to the Iron Throne,” Jon said. Without thinking, Lenore’s good hand flew up and she punched him in the face as hard as she could, causing him to grunt and hunch over in pain.  
“Lenore!” he complained.  
“If you even _try_-”  
“I won’t!”  
“If you as much as _think _of trying to take the throne from her, I will rip you apart with my bare hands! Do you understand?” Lenore growled as Jon straightened up.  
“I’m not going to. I don’t want the throne. Dany’s my queen, I-”  
“Does she know?” Lenore asked. Jon nodded solemnly.  
“I told her before the battle. She begged me not to tell anyone else,” he said.  
“And yet you’re telling me. Why?” Lenore demanded.  
“Because you’re her sister. You might be able to convince her I won’t steal the throne from her. She doesn’t seem to believe me.”  
“Well, can you blame her!? You didn’t want to be Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, you didn’t want to be King in the North, yet somehow, you because both those things,” Lenore hissed through gritted teeth, clenching her fists. “How did that happen?” she snarled. Jon bowed his head in resignation and sighed.  
“This is different. Do you want me to swear it to you? I will!”  
“Dany is your aunt too. You fucked your aunt,” Lenore said suddenly.  
“There’s no need to point that out!” Jon argued and looked completely destroyed. Lenore burst out into a hysterical fit of laughter. “Oh, you _are _a Targaryen!” she exclaimed through the fits.  
“Oh, this is fucking funny now, is it?” Jon asked, and Lenore steadied herself on him to calm down.  
“No…” she whimpered. “No, I’m actually dying on the inside because I wish you’d never bloody told me. You’ll ruin everything,” she whispered the last sentence.  
“I swear I won’t. You have to believe me. Please,” Jon begged, and Lenore stared at him with her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth agape.  
“Just fuck off,” she mumbled and waved her hand dismissively. Jon left, and Lenore limped back to help the women scrubbing the blood, but they wouldn’t let her touch the rags.  
“No, you’re done, go rest!” one woman commanded, and her tone for so authoritative that Lenore didn’t dare argue. Lenore limped away to the Godswood instead, where the fire pits remained after the battle. No one bothered her here, and she was alone to think.  
The rebuilding of Winterfell carried on for days, and soon, Lenore could actually be of some use as she could use both her hands and she no longer needed the crutch to walk. And soon, it was time for all of Daenerys’ allies to gather and plan the next war. The one against Cersei. The war council gathered in the map room. Lenore stumbled over the step as she entered the room, still not able to make good use of her wounded leg. Sandor caught her before she fell, however, and everyone gathered around the map table.  
“How many soldiers did you lose?” Jon asked, and Grey Worm moved the Unsullied wood chips.  
“Half are gone,” he said and took half off the table.  
“The Northmen as well,” Jon said and removed half his chips. Yohn Royce removed half of the knights of the Vale as well, and the Dothraki man took away half of his chips.  
“And the Golden Company has arrived in King’s Landing, courtesy of Euron Greyjoy,” Varys told them, adding a new wood chip to the board. It was painted gold with three skulls. “The balance has grown distressingly even.”  
“When the people find out what we have done for them...” Missandei began. “We saved them.  
“Cersei will make sure they don’t believe it,” Daenerys said. “We will hit her hard. We’ll rip her out root and stem.” Tyrion squinted.  
“The objective here is to remove Cersei without destroying King’s Landing,” he stated and looked at Daenerys, who, to Lenore’s great distress, didn’t confirm his statement.  
“Thankfully, she is losing allies by the day,” Varys pointed out. “Yara Greyjoy has retaken the Iron Islands in her queen’s name. The new prince of Dorne pledges his support.”  
“No matter how many lords turn against her, as long as she sits on the Iron Throne, she can call herself queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” Daenerys said unhappily. “We need the capital.”  
“I watched the people of King’s Landing rebel against their king when they were hungry, and that was before winter began,” Tyrion chimed in. Lenore remembered that. They had thrown cow shit in Joffrey’s face, and Sansa had almost been raped, but Sandor had saved her. “Give them the opportunity and they will cast Cersei aside,” Tyrion continued, and Lenore nodded in agreement. Daenerys said nothing.  
“We’ll surround the city,” Jon suggested. “If the Iron Fleet tries to ferry in more food, the dragons will destroy them. If the Lannisters and the Golden Company attack, we’ll defeat them in the field.”  
“Once the people see that Cersei is their only enemy, her reign is over,” Tyrion continued on Jon’s plan.   
“Alright,” Daenerys agreed after sharing a strange look with Jon.  
“The men we have left are exhausted,” Sansa said, and everyone turned their eyes to her where she stood next to Arya. “Many of them are wounded. They’ll fight better if they have time to rest and recuperate.”   
“How long do you suggest?” Daenerys asked, her voice laced with annoyance.   
“Can’t say for certain, not without talking to the officers,” Sansa answered.  
“I came North to fight alongside you, at great cost of my armies and myself,” Daenerys retorted. “Now that the time has come to reciprocate, you want to postpone?”  
“Dany, she’s right!” Lenore cut in. “Look at me, how well do you think I can fight? I can’t even walk into a bloody room without tripping. You don’t want that in your army going forward,” she insisted, and the glare Daenerys gave her could have cut steel. She hated when Lenore took Sansa’s side.  
“It’s not just our people, it’s yours, too,” Sansa went on. “You want to throw them into a war they’re not ready to fight?” she asked.  
“The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become,” Daenerys insisted. The women stared each other down.  
“The Northern forces will honour their promises, and their allegiance, to the queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” Jon said quietly and firmly. Sansa and Arya looked at him in disbelief, and he turned back to Daenerys. “What you command, we will obey.”  
“So…” Tyrion called. “If all are in agreement, Jon and Ser Davos will ride down the Kingsroad with the Northern troops and the bulk of the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied.” Jon rearranged the wooden chips as Tyrion talked. “A smaller group of us, will ride to White Harbour, and sail from there to Dragonstone with our queen and her dragons accompanying us from above.”  
“Do I really have to do this again?” Sandor snarled, and everyone looked at him. “You dumb fucks don’t think the Iron Fleet will be waiting for you at Dragonstone!?” he asked angrily.  
“Euron Greyjoy is master of the sea. You’re idiots if you don’t believe Cersei will put him at sea,” Lenore agreed, moving the Greyjoy chips from King’s Landing to Dragonstone. “Sailing is the dumbest possible idea, and I will not get on a ship after what I just told you,” she said firmly, staring down Daenerys, as if daring her to disagree. Daenerys looked torn.  
“You will not sail, you will fly,” she said after a while. “But we don’t have enough horses for _all _our troops to ride. Sailing is the only option. We will be wary of Euron Greyjoy.”  
“You and I will fly ahead of the ships, not over them. And we will scout,” Lenore said firmly, to which Daenerys nodded.  
“We have won the Great War,” she said. “Now we will win the Last War. In all Seven Kingdoms, men will live without fear and cruelty, under their rightful queen.” Daenerys smiled, and Sansa looked downright petulant, but she didn’t say anything, and Daenerys left. The room cleared out with her, and only the Starks remained. Arya blocked Jon’s exit.  
“We need a word,” she said, and Lenore limped out before she could hear what the word was about. She caught up with Daenerys and yanked at her sleeve.  
“Dany! Why didn’t you tell me? About Jon?” she demanded, and Daenerys looked shocked.  
“He told you?” she asked.  
“Yes he told me. Dany he’s not going to steal your throne,” Lenore said softly, and Daenerys looked away.  
“Things aren’t the same. Between us. I can’t trust him,” she said.  
“I trust him more now that he’s told me, than I did before! He’s more trustworthy now than he was when he fucked over our plan with Cersei. He won’t take your throne, and if he tries, I’ll-”  
“You’ll kill him,” Daenerys finished her sentence for her. Lenore smiled.  
“You know me,” she said. Daenerys chuckled sadly, and nodded.  
“I hope you’re right.”  
They were to depart in the morning, so Lenore stumbled back to her and Sandor’s chamber and cleared it out. She packed all the bags and Sandor carried them down to the ship. He was going to ride with Jon, Davos and the bulk of the troops. When Lenore left her chamber to go have supper, she was stopped in the corridor by Sansa Stark, who grabbed both her arms.  
“Lenore,” she said seriously.  
“Sansa?” Lenore asked back.  
“I need to tell you something. About Jon. I swore I wouldn’t tell, but-  
“But you were always terrible at keeping secrets,” Lenore cut in and smiled. “I already know.”  
“He told you?” Sansa asked incredulously.  
“I don’t know why everyone is so surprised at that. Yes.”  
“Then you know that he’s the true heir to the throne, not Daenerys,” Sansa said sternly.  
“Oh, please!” Lenore scoffed. “Who cares? He doesn’t want the throne, she does. He wants her on the throne!” Sansa looked incredibly frustrated at Lenore’s response. “I know you don’t trust her, but you trust me, don’t you? She’s my sister.”  
“Exactly! You have a blind spot when it comes to her!”  
“I do not! Sansa, I’ve heard her when she’s had rash ideas, and I’ve counselled her out of rash ideas.”  
“What happens when you’re no longer able to counsel her out of them?” Sansa challenged.  
“If that day ever comes, then I hope you have room for me at Winterfell, because that’s the day I choose to no longer follow her,” Lenore said calmly and clearly. It seemed to make Sansa feel better.  
“You will always be welcome at Winterfell. As will Sandor,” she said, making Lenore smile.  
“Thank you, my Lady.”  
The next morning, it was time to leave. Lenore was preparing for a flight, tying her hair into a braid and putting on warm clothes and her scaly leather armour. After pretty much inhaling breakfast, they were heading to the rest of the group, but someone’s voice interrupted their strolling.   
“Lenore!” Gendry shouted. Sandor kept walking, but Lenore stopped. “You’re not gonna leave without it, are you?” Gendry asked.  
“Without what?” Lenore questioned as Gendry trotted up to her.  
“Seven hells, I knew you were married to an old man, but I didn’t know _your _memory went to shits because of it,” he teased. Lenore gasped and smacked his arm.  
“How dare you!”  
“Well come on then, I’ll show you,” Gendry said and led her to the armoury. There, she saw three giant pieces of shining armour.  
“Gendry! You did it! When did you have time to make this?” she asked, trailing her fingers along the giant breastplate.  
“Had plenty of time after Arya turned down my marriage proposal,” he said simply, and Lenore gasped.  
“No!” she exclaimed. Gendry nodded sadly.  
“Asked her to be my lady of Storm’s End. She said she wasn’t a lady.”  
“Oh Gendry I’m sorry! Maybe she’ll come around at some point,” Lenore said, stroking his arm.  
“Maybe. Well, best get this going!” he urged. The dragon armour was already on a wagon, so Gendry just helped Lenore roll the wagon out to outside the walls where the dragons were waiting.  
“Help me put it on him,” Lenore said, lifting up the biggest piece of armour, the breastplate.  
“Oh, I don’t know, I…” Gendry hesitated.  
“Come on, I can’t even lift it myself,” she insisted, and Gendry helped reluctantly. Rhaegal seemed hesitant when the cold steel touched his chest, but Lenore shushed him softly and soon he curled his head up against her and looked curiously as she and Gendry fastened the breastplate on him. Next was the neck piece, that consisted of several different pieces connected to each other, for optimised movement and turning. For this, Rhaegal lowered his neck and allowed them to strap the armour around him. Drogon looked on in fascination.  
“Oh I’m sorry, I would’ve made some for you too, but I didn’t have time,” Gendry told the red dragon, and Lenore chuckled. The last piece of armour was a sort of visor that would protect Rhaegal’s head. He closed his eyes and purred when they put it on.  
“What are you doing?” Daenerys asked suddenly, having walked up to them.  
“Gendry made dragon armour for Rhaegal. We could have more made for Drogon when we reach Dragonstone,” Lenore said. Daenerys looked fascinated as the green dragon raised his neck and stretched, feeling out his new armour. The neck piece molded right in with Lenore’s saddle, there was a perfect gap for where her legs would go.  
“You’re very good,” Daenerys said as Rhaegal turned his neck from side to side, still having full movement despite the steel.  
“Thank you, your Grace,” Gendry said with a bow of his head. “You leaving now, then?” he asked Lenore, who nodded. Gendry took one of Lenore’s hands and kissed it. She laughed and smacked his head away lightly, giving him a hug instead.  
“We’ll meet again, I’m sure,” she said and climbed onto Rhaegal’s neck, lifting off the ground. His wings had holes in them after the battle, and so his flying was slightly unsteady. Daenerys and Drogon flew right after, and together they flew a lap over Winterfell before Lenore landed next to the riding troops. She slid off the dragon again and walked on over to Sandor.  
“That’s impressive,” he said, watching Rhaegal’s armour shine in the sun.  
“Gendry made it. Sandor, I need to ask you something,” Lenore said.  
“Go ahead.”  
“When we get to King’s Landing… do you _have _to fight the Mountain?” she asked, frowning when Sandor looked down and away from her.  
“You know I do,” he said and laid a hand on Lenore’s cheek. She shook her head.  
“You don’t. Sandor, I know that that’s what drove you all those years… But you have something else now, you have me.” _You have a baby on the way_, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Sandor cupped her face with both hands now and looked at her again.  
“That’s why I have to kill him,” he said firmly. “I can’t live in peace with you, knowing he’s still out there, do you understand?” he asked, and Lenore felt tears prickle behind her eyes.  
“If you die, I’ll kill you,” she growled, and Sandor laughed, pulling Lenore into a tight embrace. She clutched him hard in the embrace before pulling back. They stared intently at each other for a while, knowing this was goodbye.  
“Oh fuck it,” Sandor growled and their lips collided in a harsh kiss.  
“Go, before I change my mind and cripple you so you can’t leave!” Lenore scolded when they broke apart. With a smile, Sandor got on his horse, nodding at Lenore as he trotted away. Before Lenore could climb back onto the dragon, Sansa came walking towards her, holding something in her hands.   
“I hope you’re right, about her,” Sansa said, looking into the sky where Daenerys was flying on Drogon.  
“Me too,” Lenore agreed.  
“I made you something,” Sansa told her and unfolded the Stark grey cloak. It was lined with white fur, and the leather bands that held it together carried a beautiful braided pattern.  
“You made this?” Lenore asked in awe and trailed her hand along the leather braids.  
“Yes, for you,” Sansa said, holding the cloak up and wrapping it around Lenore, fastening it with the leather braids.  
“Thank you, Sansa, it’s beautiful. I’ll wear it with honour.” Lenor smiled and gave her old friend a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then she climbed back in her saddle and clasped herself in. With a roar, Rhaegal ran forward and lunged himself into the air, and Lenore watched as Winterfell grew smaller and smaller beneath her.


	60. Iron Scum

The Targaryen sisters rode the dragons above the small riding company all the way to White Harbour. They watched from above as the company got on the ships. Grey Worm, some Unsullied, Missandei, Tyrion and Varys. Together they sailed and flew across the sea. The journey took days as the dragons continued circling the ships rather than flying straight to Dragonstone. Lenore kept a watchful eye out all her waking hours for any oddities. It was during this journey that she learned how to sleep on a dragon’s back.  
After a few more days, she could see Dragonstone in the distance. To their side, there was a mountain, with more sea behind it. Lenore was about to take a turn, fly around the mountain and scout for enemies, but a bolt came towards her at an insane speed. It hit Rhaegal straight in the chest and he screeched in pain as his breastplate buckled, but the bolt didn’t go through it. Lenore had a second to be relieved, thanking Gendry mentally before another bolt came at her, this one to Rhaegal’s neck. It didn’t go through the steel either. Daenerys looked terrified as she watched. Lenore growled and yanked at Rhaegal’s horns, taking a deep turn. A third bolt went through Rhaegal’s wing and inches behind Lenore’s back. Blood splattered as the dragon screeched and his flying destabilised.  
“Come on, come on, come on,” Lenore urged. Rhaegal finally took the turn and flew towards the mountain. He was swaying from side to side because of his damaged wing. Drogon flew out of the scorpion’s reach. Finally Lenore got a clear view of what was happening. The Iron Fleet, with Euron Greyjoy in front. Every ship had a scorpion, aimed towards her. Euron aimed another bolt at her that missed with an inch. Lenore panicked, trying to figure out what to do. She didn’t have time to unclasp herself from the harness, so she got out her dagger and furiously cut herself loose as Rhaegal flew over the ships and behind them, then turning around. The yelling began from below to aim for the other dragon and the ships instead. Lenore didn’t have time to look for Daenerys, but she saw how the Iron Fleet shot holes in her ships.  
“Iron scum… Dracarys!” Lenore shouted, and the last thing she saw before she jumped off the swaying Rhaegal’s neck, was fire, and she heard ships explode. She disappeared under water and began swimming for her life, past the ships, forward, forward, forward. She saw Tyrion land in the water, having jumped off of one of their ships. Then she found what she was looking for, the biggest ship in the Iron Fleet, the one with the sharpest front. The water burned above her, and just as she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she made it up to the surface.  
She grabbed onto the large golden kraken that decorated Euron’s ship, and she heaved herself up on it. Both dragons were still in the air above her, thankfully. Lenore used the spiky trampoline head of the ship to climb, trying to be as quiet as possible. A bolt was fired off just above her head, and she heard another ship explode in the distance. She steadied herself and waited for the next bolt to be laid onto the scorpion. When she saw it, her hand came up and grabbed it. She heard Euron mumble something from above her. She turned a spoke and started twisting the bolt in her hand. Everything got quiet, and with a loud yell Lenore heaved herself up, balancing on the scorpion with the huge bolt in her hands as a spear. She spun it around and pointed it right at Euron.  
“Pick a new queen, Greyjoy!” she demanded. Euron looked utterly shocked, but then a rumbling laugh came from him. Drogon and Rhaegal had destroyed every other ship in the Iron Fleet and were now flying safely towards Dragonstone.  
“Your queen had her chance! She picked my niece and nephew. Now the real queen is pregnant with my child,” Euron said proudly. Lenore laughed bitterly.  
“You’re not just insane, you’re an idiot! Cersei’s baby isn’t yours, it’s Jaime’s!” she told him, and his face fell. Lenore seized the opportunity and lunged forward, shoving the scorpion bolt through his chest where he sat. Blood splattered from his mouth as he tried to speak. “That’s for trying to kill my dragon,” she said, pushing the bolt all the way through his body before she let go and jumped off the ship back into the sea.

Missandei was gone. Lenore was gone. Daenerys tipped over the wooden lion on her map table as she looked at Grey Worm.  
“We will storm the city, my queen, we will kill your enemies, all of them,” he said, and she nodded slightly.  
“Your Grace,” Varys cut in. “I promised you I would look you in the eye and speak directly if I ever thought you were making a mistake.” He looked up at her. “This is a mistake,” he said firmly.  
“You saw them shoot at my children. Rhaegal would have died if it wasn’t for Laenerys’ armour. They took Missandei, they might have taken Laenerys,” Daenerys snarled.  
“Cersei needs to be destroyed, but if we attack King’s Landing with your dragons and the Unsullied, and the Dothraki, tens of thousands of innocents will die! That is why Cersei is bringing them into the Red Keep! These are the people you came here to protect. I beg you, your Grace, do not destroy the city you came to save. Do not become what you have always struggled to defeat,” Varys pleaded.  
“Do you believe we’re here for a reason, Lord Varys?” Daenerys asked softly. “I’m here to free the world from tyrants, that is my destiny. And I will serve it no matter the cost.”

Lenore coughed as she heaved herself onto the beach. All she could do was lay still for several minutes as she recovered. Then she snarled and hurled herself off the ground, marching up all the many steps of Dragonstone, into the castle. She didn’t know where Daenerys was, so she went to the throne room. She burst through the door all soaking wet and exhausted, but she didn’t find Daenerys there, only Tyrion and Varys.  
“Lenore!” Tyrion exclaimed, setting aside his wine cup and rushing towards her.  
“We thought they took you!” Varys said as she came staggering up to him with Tyrion to steady her. She chuckled.  
“I’m not so easily taken. I killed Euron Greyjoy.” Varys and Tyrion both stared at her with wide eyes.  
“They have Missandei,” Tyrion then informed her. She nodded her understanding.  
“We need to get you into some dry clothes,” Varys spoke and put his hand on her shoulder.  
“No, I need to find Daenerys, where is she?” Lenore asked. The look Tyrion and Varys exchanged had her worried. “What is it?” she demanded.  
“Daenerys is planning on attacking King’s Landing with Drogon and Rhaegal, no matter the cost,” Varys admitted. Lenore knew what that meant, and she let out an exasperated breath, shaking her head.   
“She can’t. I have to talk to her, Varys, where is she?” Lenore whined as her teeth started chattering.  
“I’ll tell you as soon as you’re wearing something dry,” he insisted, and she nodded.  
After getting warmed up and changed, Lenore headed back down to the throne room, where Daenerys had now arrived, sitting on the throne. Lenore marched up to her.  
“Tell me it’s not true,” she demanded. “Tell me they’re lying, tell me you’re not about to blow up King’s Landing.” Daenerys looked colder than she ever had before.  
“We will speak with Cersei first. If she does not surrender, the blood is not on my hands,” she said. “If she surrenders the city, there will be no bloodshed.” Lenore gnashed her teeth and clenched her fists as she listened to Daenerys speak.  
“I won’t let you do it,” she hissed. “I will not let you slaughter hundreds of thousands of innocent people to get to the throne.” Daenerys seemed to soften a bit.  
“We leave for the parley with Cersei in an hour,” she said and got up, leaving Lenore alone in the throne room. She was once again filled with dread and anxiety, and all she could hope for now was that Cersei would surrender. Lenore sighed to herself, knowing that surrender was not in the Lannister woman’s nature.  
Rhaegal stayed on Dragonstone to heal. Tyrion, Varys and a small group of Unsullied took the ship over to King’s Landing. Daenerys and Lenore flew on Drogon’s back. They arrived at the beach and marched together up to the gates of King’s Landing. Up on the walls were tens of scorpions, ready to fire off dragon killing bolts whenever needed. On the wall above the gate, stood Cersei in a red velvet gown, with the Mountain behind her, and the chained up Missandei next to her. Lenore knew Missandei was dead already. There was no way to save her, and it shattered Lenore’s heart.  
The gates opened, and out came Qyburn, Cersei’s Hand, walking towards them in his black maester’s robe. With determined steps, Tyrion walked forward to meet him in the middle.  
“My Lord,” Qyburn greeted. Tyrion nodded back, then went straight to the point.  
“Queen Daenerys demands Cersei’s unconditional surrender, and the immediate release of Missandei of Naath,” he said.  
“Queen Cersei demands Daenerys’ unconditional surrender,” Qyburn said in return. “If she refuses, Missandei of Naath will die here and now.”  
“Qyburn… You’re a rational man,” Tyrion insisted.   
“Or so I flatter myself, my Lord.”  
“We have a chance here. Perhaps our last chance to avoid carnage.”  
“Yes,” was Qybyrn’s only response. Lenore glared up at Cersei on the wall. She looked so smug, and if the walls hadn’t been littered with scorpions, Lenore would have flown up there and killed her.  
“Help me,” Tyrion urged. “I don’t want to see the city burn. I don’t want to hear the screams of children burning alive.”   
“No, it is not a pleasant sound…” Qyburn agreed lightly.   
“I don’t want to hear it,” Tyrion insisted. “Help me save the city.” Qyburn only looked down on him with mild interest.  
“My Lord, I am only a mouthpiece for our queen,” he said.   
“Your queen,” Tyrion corrected.  
“Cersei is queen of the Seven Kingdoms, you are her subject.”   
“Her reign is over, you understand this, help her understand it!”  
“We understand nothing of the sort. Your queen’s dragons are vulnerable, your armies are battle weary and depleted, while our have just been reinforced with the Golden Company,” Qyburn went on, and Tyrion realised he was getting nowhere with this man, so he walked forward again, up to the gates to speak directly to Cersei.  
Daenerys looked worried as Tyrion marched forward. The archers on the walls readied their bows, aiming them all at Tyrion. Cersei had never looked more evil than she did when she raised her hand, about to give the signal for the archers to loose the arrows. Lenore held her breath. If Cersei killed Tyrion, there weren’t enough scorpions and archers and Mountains in the world to save her from Lenore. She lowered her hand again, and the archers pulled back.   
“I know you don’t care about your people,” Tyrion began. “Why should you? They hate you, and you hate them. You’re not a monster, I know this. I know this, because I’ve seen it! You’ve always loved your children, more than yourself!” he said. Cersei appeared to have some reaction to this, because she turned her face away and looked displeased. Tyrion continued. “More than Jaime, more than anything. I beg you! If not for yourself then for your child! Your reign is over. But that doesn’t mean your life has to end! It doesn’t mean your baby has to die,” he finished. Cersei looked distraught, and for a moment it seemed like she would agree, but then she turned, and walked to Missandei, putting her hand on her arm. Daenerys and Grey Worm walked forward and stared up at the wall with increasing panic  
“If you have any last words, now is the time,” Cersei said. She let go of Missandei, who looked down. She was quiet as she looked at her chained hands, and then forward to Grey Worm, her lover, and Daenerys, her best friend.   
“Dracarys!” Missandei spat. Her words echoed over the beach, and Cersei turned towards the Mountain, giving him a nod. He stepped forward and unveiled his enormous sword. Lenore shut her eyes, she couldn’t watch, but she heard it happen. She heard steel go through flesh, and seconds later she heard a body detached from its head hit the ground.  
She opened her eyes again and looked right up at the smirking Cersei. Grey Worm had turned away and looked completely destroyed. Daenerys had never looked so furious. She turned and walked away, and there was no doubt what would happen next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord it was pleasant to kill off Euron Greyjoy!!!


	61. Lord Varys

Daenerys hadn’t seen anyone since they returned to Dragonstone. She hadn’t eaten, she had refused to speak to anyone for days. Varys was worried. Not for her, but for the people of King’s Landing. Lady Sansa had told Tyrion about Jon’s heritage, and Tyrion had told Varys. Now Varys much preferred Jon Snow. He was the rightful heir, and he hadn’t threatened to burn the city to the ground. Lenore was a nervous, angry wreck, torn between loyalty to her sister and the painful truth that seemed to spit in her face.  
Every time Varys tried to persuade her to talk Daenerys out of burning down King’s Landing, Lenore felt the need to protect her sister. And every time Tyrion tried to talk them into the idea that Daenerys would show mercy, Lenore would snarl at him that she’s gone beyond their reach.  
Not many days after their return to Dragonstone, Jon Snow arrived, having sailed ashore while his men rode straight to King’s Landing. Varys was the one to greet him, and Lenore could only imagine what they spoke about on their way up to the castle. Daenerys had left her chamber for the first time since they returned. She stood in the map room looking out over the shore. Her hair was a frizzy mess, with some old braids hanging loose, and she had purple bags underneath her eyes from crying, not sleeping enough and not eating. Tyrion approached her in the map room.  
“Your Grace…” he said carefully, stopping a bit away from her. “There’s something you need to know.” Her eyes were closed and she sighed quietly.   
“Someone has betrayed me,” she said without opening her eyes.  
“Yes,” Tyrion confirmed after a while. Daenerys finally opened her eyes and looked at him.  
“Jon Snow,” she said. Tyrion looked concerned when she said that, and shook his head slightly.  
“Varys,” he told her.  
“He knows the truth about Jon,” Daenerys surmised.  
“He does,” Tyrion confirmed softly. She turned around, approaching Tyrion slowly, looking completely apathetic.  
“Because you told him,” Daenerys accused, her voice laced with mistrust. “You learned from Sansa, and she learned from Jon, though I begged him not to tell her. As I said, he betrayed me.”  
“I’m glad Sansa told me, I am your Hand,” Tyrion spoke, still softly as if trying not to wake a dragon. “I need to be aware of any threats you’re facing.”   
“And Varys?” she snarled quietly.  
“Your master of whispers has to know too,” Tyrion insisted, but Daenerys wasn’t having it.   
“You spoke to him first,” she accused, “without coming to me, without asking my permission.” Tyrion shook his head regretfully.  
“It was a mistake,” he said honestly.  
“Why do you think Sansa told you? What do you think she hoped to gain?”  
“She trusts me!” Tyrion said simply.   
“Yes,” Daenerys hissed. “She trusts you. She trusted you to spread secrets that could destroy your own queen. And you did not let her down.”  
“If I have failed you, my queen, forgive me. Our intentions were good. We wanted what you want, a better world, all of us. Varys as much as anyone. But it doesn’t matter now…”   
“No,” Daenerys agreed, shaking her head with tears in her eyes. “Doesn’t matter now.” She turned back and returned to staring out the window, and Tyrion left soon after.  
When nightfall came, Lenore sat in her chamber patching up some of Sandor’s clothes. She hummed a calming song to herself and her baby, sometimes rubbing her belly softly while putting down the sewing needle. When she looked out the window, she dropped the shirt on the floor and stood up with a horrified gasp. Grey Worm and several Unsullied soldiers were leading the chained up Varys towards the sea. Lenore grabbed her swords and rushed out the door, where she was found two Unsullied guarding. No one ever guarded her door.  
“Dīnagon,” she said firmly. They didn’t move, so she tried to push past them, but they pushed her back towards her door. “Dīnagon!” she snarled again. They didn’t move. They couldn’t hurt her or Daenerys would have them killed, she knew that. They knew that. “Fucking cunts,” she growled, kicking one of them in the stomach. The second had his spear against her throat in a heartbeat, but he dropped it when she ducked and put her sword through his gut. The other soldier spun his spear around and before he could aim it at her, one of her swords went through his spear, and before he had realised it was broken, her other sword went through his throat. Lenore dashed, running out of the castle before anyone else could see her. She hurried down all the stairs, panicking more with each step and nearly tripping. She heard the voices coming from the beach and she ran. Tears clouded her vision and before she knew it, two Unsullied had grabbed her by her arms. Four more were in front of her, blocking her path. She dropped her swords and screamed.  
“VARYS!” her voice echoed back to her. She tried desperately to claw her way out of the Unsullied’s grips, but it was for nothing. “VARYS! NO! PLEASE!” she screamed, feeling her strength leave her as she knew she was too late. She could see them down on the rocks by the sea. Daenerys, Grey Worm, Jon, Tyrion and Varys. She shrieked and cried, and then she heard it. Drogon roared, and then she saw dragon fire. The beach lit up, and she watched Varys burn. He didn’t scream, but Lenore did. She knew what had happened, she knew Daenerys had just executed her oldest friend, and she collapsed in the sand, a crying mess. The Unsullied soldiers let her go and left her there as they walked back to the castle.  
Drogon took off, and apparently Daenerys took another way back to the castle, because Tyrion was the only one who came towards Lenore. He stopped a bit away from her, and she looked up at him through her tears. He looked mournful and regretful, but Lenore didn’t care.  
“He was your friend, too,” she sobbed. “How could you let her do this?”  
“He betrayed her… he conspired to-” Tyrion mumbled but was cut off.  
“She murdered him!” Lenore shrieked and hurled herself off of the ground.  
“Lenore-”   
“Varys was good! And you stood by and watched as Daenerys burned him alive!”  
“Please-”   
“I will never forgive you for this!” she screamed and picked up her swords, sobbing as she walked back to the castle.  
She found Varys’ chamber and entered it, looking around. Tears still ran down her cheeks as she ran her hand over one of his robes. On his table, the candles were still lit, parchment was lying around and a drying quill laid nearby. He had taken off his rings and put them in the steel bowl. Lenore picked up one of them, the silver ring with black jewels. She had given it to him for his fiftieth nameday. It was too large for her ring or middle fingers, so she put it on her thumb, giving it a kiss before leaving his chamber and shutting the door for good.   
The next day, Daenerys was sitting on the throne in her Targaryen red and black dress when Lenore stormed in. Lenore was in yellow, with her hound’s head necklace on full display, and her dragon brooch on her chest next to it. She stopped before the bottom step and stared at her sister through puffy eyes from crying all night.  
“How could you?” she snarled. Daenerys barely looked fazed.  
“Lord Varys betrayed me. He conspired to put Jon on the throne instead of me.”   
“You owe him everything! He got you Dorne and Highgarden for allies, he gave you your Hand, he made sure your sister never lost hope to one day reunite with you! He raised me! And you murdered him! Burned him alive like an insect! And for what? Not wanting tens of thousands to burn?” Lenore asked, staring at Daenerys who looked at her coldly.  
“Sansa told Tyrion about Jon’s heritage. She killed Varys as much as I did.”  
“ _ You  _ killed Varys! You alone!” Lenore screamed, and the throne room echoed.  
“Varys would rather see Jon on the throne than me,” Daenerys said.  
“So would I now that I know what you’re capable of!” Lenore shouted, and Daenerys shook her head slowly, her eyes wide. Since she and Lenore had reunited, Lenore had never once swayed in her loyalty to Daenerys.   
“You’re my sister,” Daenerys whispered. Lenore heard footsteps entering the throne room. Tyrion and Grey Worm had come to see what the yelling was about. She swallowed and took a deep breath.  
“Can you really justify burning down King’s Landing?” she asked.  
“Cersei thinks mercy is our weakness. She’s wrong. Mercy is our strength. Mercy towards future generations, who will never again be held hostage by a tyrant,” Daenerys spoke.  
“Where was your  _ mercy _ for Varys?” Lenore spat. “Where is your  _ mercy _ towards the tens of thousands of innocent men, women, and children who will die screaming if you take your dragons and burn their city? A million people live in this city. Are you going to kill them all to take your throne?” she asked. Tyrion was watching them warily, and Grey Worm looked completely blank. Daenerys raised her eyebrows.  
“They will have died for a greater cause.”  
“You have one million reasons not to burn down the city. And only one to do it. If you choose the one over the million, you’re not the woman I thought you were. You’re not the just ruler I heard of from across the sea. If you burn a city to take your throne, you’re not a liberator, you’re a tyrant.” Daenerys stared at her with wide eyes as she spoke. “If this is the path you intend to take, I will not follow you. If you do this, you’re not my queen. And you’re not my sister,” she said, and Daenerys shot up.  
“You are Laenerys of house Targaryen! You know our words, fire and blood!” she argued. Lenore shook her head and fidgeted with the dragon brooch on her dress. She took it out and held it for a moment, weighing it in her hand. Then she looked up at Daenerys.  
“If that’s what being Targaryen means, then I’m not a Targaryen…” She tossed the dragon brooch on the ground in front of her. “My name is Lenore Clegane. And I will not follow you,” she snarled, then turned on her heel and began walking away.  
“You will not walk away from me!” Daenerys yelled desperately. Grey Worm and another Unsullied took a threatening step towards her with their hands on their spears. Lenore stopped and looked back at her.  
“Stop me. I dare you,” she said, and kept walking. The Unsullied waited for their queen’s command, but it never came, and Lenore left the throne room.  
“The people who live there, they’re not your enemies, they’re innocents, like the ones you liberated in Meereen!” Tyrion rose up and tried to reason with Daenerys after Lenore left.  
“In Meereen the slaves turned on the Masters, and liberated the city themselves the moment I arrived,” Daenerys argued.  
“They’re afraid! Anyone who resists Cersei will see his family butchered! You can’t expect them to be heroes. They’re hostages!” Tyrion desperately tried bringing her back down to earth.  
“They are. In a tyrant’s grip, whose fault is that? Not mine.”   
“What does it matter whose fault it is! I beg you, your Grace-”   
“Ready the Unsullied,” Daenerys turned to Grey Worm and said. “Tonight you sail for King’s Landing to join the Northern armies.” Tyrion walked up the stair.  
“Cersei’s followers will abandon her if they know the war is lost!” he insisted. “Give them that chance! If the city surrenders, they will ring the bells and raise the gates! Please! If you hear them ringing the bells, call off the attack!” he begged, utilising his last resort. Daenerys contemplated his words and finally nodded.  
“Wait for me outside the city. You’ll know when it’s time,” she told Grey Worm, who nodded and walked out. Tyrion bowed his head before leaving, too. He ran straight for Lenore’s chamber, where she was changing.  
“Lenore!” he yelled, barging through her door. She was angrily lacing herself into her armour. It seemed tight around her belly.

“What?” she grunted, finally fitting the brown leather armour on her.  
“You have to ring the bells,” Tyrion said.   
“What bells, what are you on about?” she muttered and fastened her shoulder pauldrons.  
“The bells! In King’s Landing! It’s our last chance to end the slaughter! Daenerys agreed to call off the attack if the bells of surrender are rung!” Tyrion said, running up to Lenore and taking one of her hands.  
“I’m not going to King’s Landing,” she snarled and pulled her hand back.  
“Lenore, you can stop her!”   
“I believed in her!” Lenore stopped and shrieked. “I will not watch her burn her own progress down in front of my eyes, I can’t do it!”   
“My Lady!” Tyrion shouted when she stomped into her boots and began putting on her scaly greaves. “You’re the only one who can end this. You can save the city! Once we’re outside the gates, take Rhaegal to the bell tower and ring the bells, I beg you!” he pleaded, and Lenore sighed, stopped, and looked at him. She swallowed hard when she saw the look in his eyes, and she imagined the horror that would take place in King’s Landing. She saw children, burnt to crisps on the ground, and she nodded.  
“I’ll ring the bells,” she agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brb crying
> 
> Lenore's always struggled with her identity. Baelish, Clegane or Targaryen? But now she found out who she truly is.


	62. The Battle of King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, guys...

Lenore had taken Rhaegal, saddle and armour on, before Daenerys had had a chance to realise it, and flown over the water to King’s Landing. She had flown above the Northmen that Jon had gathered, and around the capital and then landed on the other side. The city was already in complete chaos, with people trying to get inside the gates for protection. Lenore had left Rhaegal hidden a bit away and then run towards the crowd. She made use of her small size, slipping through the people and elbowing her way in between them. She gasped when she saw Sandor in the crowd, next to Arya. She didn’t have time to get close to them because they were some of the last people through the gates before they shut, leaving the people crying for help.  
Lenore slipped past the crowd and into an alleyway nearby, and then she ran, making her way through the sides of the city. She knew the town well and knew exactly which way was quickest. She made it out to a market place whens he heard the first explosion. The men on the walls manning the scorpions were rushing to get them ready, to fire, but one by one they were being blown up by flame, as Daenerys and Drogon flew through the sky setting fire to them.  
Lenore stopped watching and continued running, up towards the bell tower as Daenerys plowed through the scorpions. In the distance, she heard yelling, and the biggest explosion so far. Daenerys had broken through one of the walls, set fire to the Golden Company, and now the Unsullied and the Northmen and the Dothraki were breeching the wall. That was the plan. Lenore didn’t have time to wait until she saw them, she had to keep running if she wanted to have any chance of saving the city.  
Three Lannister soldiers spotted her and came her way. Her swords were out before they had reached her, and she battled them off easily, stabbing two of them in the gut at the same time while kicking the third one in the stomach. He fell onto his back and she put both her swords to his chest before shoving them back in their sheaths and continuing to run. She ran up the stairs to the bell tower, and she saw Daenerys on Drogon fly above her, just past the tower. He was through all the scorpions already, and now he landed on a wall not from away from Lenore. It pained her to hear the people scream in fear as they saw Drogon above them. She hurried up the last bit of the stairs. Drogon screeched threateningly.   
People all around her were screaming “ring the bells”. Nothing else was heard throughout the city, only that phrase over and over, from the Red Keep to the walls. Lenore made it to the top, and she hopped onto the rope, pulling it towards her, and she feared she might go deaf, but the bells rang above her, signalling to Daenerys that the city had surrendered. The city was hers, she had won. Lenore stared out the window, at Daenerys on Drogon. She waited for Daenerys to fly Drogon away from the wall, to lay down their arms, to proclaim her victory. There was no need to burn the city anymore.  
But the look on Daenerys’ face said otherwise. Her face was darkened with ash, her eyes were wide, and focused on the Red Keep. She was panting, and just looked… unstable. Lenore took the bow off her back, and plucked out an arrow. Daenerys expression turned furious as her gaze was fixed on the Red Keep, not even noticing Lenore. She leaned forward, grabbing onto Drogon again, and right before he lifted from the wall, Lenore aimed her arrow straight at Daenerys. She fired it off a second too late, and it hit Daenerys in the arm as she flew away, and she cried out in pain before flying  _ over  _ the bell tower, deeper into the city.  
With an angry yell, Lenore reattached the bow to her back and ran. She ran through the city and saw the flame in the distance. Daenerys was burning her way through innocent people. Lenore wanted to cry at her sister’s betrayal, and she ran faster, back to the green dragon who was waiting for her.  
“Vlah!” she shouted before she was even close to him. He leaped forward before taking flight, and Lenore jumped, grabbing the dragon’s tail and heaving herself up by his spikes. As he flew forward, she climbed up onto his back, and finally neck, and she slipped when he turned, but climbed into the saddle again. She trapped herself in and chased after Daenerys, who was fully rampant. Buildings exploded, stone melted, humans burned. Lenore grabbed onto Rhaegal’s horns and leaned forward, and he flapped his wings again, speeding up.  
They were closing in on Daenerys and Drogon. Rhaegal roared, and suddenly Daenerys turned her head, staring at Lenore in horror. She realised she was being chased and she tried to make Drogon fly faster. Rhaegal breathed fire in front of him, but his flame didn’t reach Daenerys, it only reached Drogon’s tail, and he screeched before setting fire to a new group of humans. Lenore growled and reached for her bow again, aiming an arrow at Daenerys and releasing it. Daenerys turned in the last second and the arrow bounced against an exploding building and disintegrated.  
Lenore turned as well, following Daenerys and Drogon as they went on their killing spree. Soldiers burned, civilian men burned, innocent women burned. Children burned. Lenore hated her, she hated Daenerys, and she drew another arrow. Daenerys was alternating between looking forward and back to see what Lenore was doing. She leaned down as a second arrow came towards her, and it hit Drogon’s back instead, dropping off of him like a fly.  
“Daenerys! They surrendered! The city is already yours! Please, stop this and let’s go kill Cersei instead! These people don’t deserve this!” Lenore shouted in pure desperation. Daenerys didn’t listen, and Drogon was speeding up. He was bigger than Rhaegal, so he flew faster when he wanted to. He diverted behind a corner, dodging the third of Lenore’s arrows. He was closing in on the Red Keep by now, blowing a hole in one of the towers. Lenore tried to catch up with them but it was useless. In one of the windows, she saw Cersei, in her red velvet dress, staring out the window. Killing her and taking the city peacefully would have been so easy. Cersei was leaving her room in the Red Keep to stay somewhere safer, and Lenore lost sight of her.  
She flew after Daenerys again, who was attacking the Red Keep with full force, blowing up the roofs, burning through the walls, collapsing stone. Rhaegal dove under a tower, and when he rose again, Drogon was  _ just  _ above him. Lenore cried out and pushed at Rhaegal’s horns, and he bit down, choking Drogon’s flame as his teeth sunk into his neck. Daenerys whimpered in fear as Drogon screeched in agony and began to fall. His massive red tail swooshed inches above Lenore and Rhaegal before lashing back and smashing Rhaegal away by his stomach. Frustration ripped through Lenore as Drogon recovered, and Daenerys went back to causing more and more destruction. Rhaegal whirled backwards before steadying himself, and Lenore looked around herself. Half the city behind them was burning, and thousands were dead. Daenerys exploded a wall and revealed one of the staircases in the Red Keep. One that Lenore had walked up and down many times on the way to her chamber. She followed Daenerys again and fired off arrow after arrow. Only one made its target, etching itself into the mad queen’s waist.  
She cried out in pain again and furiously dove with Drogon. They had circled the Red Keep and were now back by the blown up stairway. Lenore was about the dive after Daenerys when she saw it. Her breath hitched in her throat when she saw Sandor and Gregor on the stairs, battling to death. She reached for her last arrow, aimed it, and shot. It hit Gregor right in his bare shoulder. He looked up, snarled, pulled the arrow out and turned it attention back to Sandor. Lenore couldn’t turn Rhaegal around quickly enough, he was already circling the building again, looking for Drogon.  
Panic had hit Lenore hard. Gregor Clegane’s skin was grey, he had rotten old wounds were blood red. He was a monster, and he was bigger and stronger than Sandor. Lenore reattached her bow to her back and reached down to her sides, unclasping herself from the saddle. All thought of stopping Daenerys was gone as Rhaegal flew around the building and back towards the staircase. What Lenore saw made her insides twist in horror and disgust. The Mountain had the Hound up against the wall, with his hands on his face. Gregor’s thumbs were digging into Sandor’s eyes. If Lenore didn’t reach him in time he would crush Sandor’s skull the way she’d heard he had done to Oberyn Martell.  
She cried as Rhaegal flew closer, but Sandor managed to get his dagger up, stabbing his brother in the eye. The dagger went all the way through his head. Gregor backed off and Sandor fell onto the floor with a pained grunt. To both their horrors, the Mountain simply reached for the dagger and began pulling it out, and that’s when Lenore was close enough to make the leap. She only knew one thing. The monster who had murdered her best friend and was now trying to murder her husband, would not succeed. With a brutal scream, she whipped out her swords and balanced on her feet in the saddle, making Gregor look up at her, turning his attention away from Sandor.  
“Get away from my husband, you ugly cunt!” Lenore shrieked as she jumped. Her swords were crossed in the air, and the Mountain was aiming the dagger right at her. He would kill her as she killed him, there was nothing she could do about it. It would be worth it. But at the very last second, Sandor yanked back his brother’s arm, and he dropped the dagger just as Lenore landed on him, her crossed swords coming at him with such a force that they took his head right off. The impact of her body falling on his made them both tumble down the stairs, ash and dust clouding her vision as they fell step by step by step. Lenore dropped her swords and steadied herself, climbing off of Gregor’s headless corpse and looking up to her husband.  
Sandor ran down towards her and helped her back onto her feet. She cupped his cheeks in horror as she looked at him. Aside from his body being beaten blue, his left eye was completely ruined, just a bloody, dark hole, and underneath his right eye he had a huge messy wound. Tears ran down Lenore’s cheeks and she sobbed.  
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it faster,” she cried. Sandor shook his head.  
“I had him,” he coughed. “You should have let me finish him. I had him, I could’ve killed him,” he insisted.   
“He would have killed you!” Lenore shot back. Sandor laughed bitterly.  
“Wouldn’t have mattered. I would have died peaceful, knowing I took him with me,” he said. Lenore gulped down another sob as she shook her head.  
“It would have mattered to me,” she whimpered. Sandor reached his hand behind her head and stroked her hair.   
“You’re young, your whole life is ahead of you. You would have remarried, you-”   
“I’m pregnant,” Lenore cut him off firmly. He hand stopped moving, and his one good eye revealed his shock.  
“What?” he asked breathily.  
“I’m pregnant,” she repeated. “I don’t know how, Pycelle was wrong, I  _ can  _ have children, and I’m carrying yours inside of me.” She angrily grabbed his hand and put it on her belly. Sandor was still shocked. “So don’t fucking tell me it wouldn’t have mattered if you died, Sandor Clegane, because you’re going to be a father! You matter now more than ever!” Lenore cried. Sandor just breathed for a few moments before leaning his forehead against hers.  
“Boy or girl?” he asked softly. She smiled through her tears.   
“I don’t know, but if it’s a boy I want to name him Sandor,” she whispered. Sandor chuckled.  
“I hope it’s a girl,” he said and kissed her. She kissed him back with passion before a new explosion was heard, and she pulled away.  
“Come on, we have to go,” she decided.  
“Go where?”  
“Go kill my sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods Lenore, way to lose focus from stopping your sister... but also... Sandor lives <3


	63. The Iron Throne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god oh my god guys

Lenore picked up her swords and began marching. Sandor followed tightly with his sword clutched in his hand. Rhaegal had flown away, so they were walking by foot.  
“How long have you known?” Sandor asked as they walked through the burning city.  
“Since the boat to Winterfell,” Lenore said truthfully. Sandor made an indignant noise.  
“Why didn’t you tell me!? And you’ve fought two wars after that!” he exclaimed.  
“Yes.”  
“You could have died!”  
“But I didn’t.”  
“But you could have! Had I known, I would have locked you in the crypt at Winterfell!” Sandor exclaimed. Lenore looked at him lovingly.  
“This is why didn’t tell you,” she said simply. Sandor couldn’t see to his left side, but Lenore yanked him away the second before a mountain of bricks fell onto the ground. They hurried up and turned a corner. Only then did Lenore truly see the horror her sister had caused.  
Bodies burnt to crisps were littering the ground. The buildings were ruined, melted, collapsed. A small child was laying lifeless on a pile of rubble not far away from them. The Lannister soldiers laid dead on the stone. Lenore didn’t care for them, but she did care for the innocents. And they made up most of the bodies. She swallowed hard and kept walking, swords clutched tightly. She and Sandor walked inside, speeding through the corridors, when the short blonde hair and red velvet dress caught Lenore’s attention and she stopped. Cersei.  
Lenore pointed one of her swords right at the queen she hated so much. Cersei had stopped as well, just staring at Lenore pitifully. She was scared, she was terrified, and she was crying. She held out her hands.  
“Please,” she begged. She didn’t look like an evil tyrant queen now, just a scared girl.  
“You held me hostage for most my life. You made my life hell, and you tortured me, and let your son and his men torture me,” Lenore said calmly, as the memories took over her. The smug smirk she’d worn when Joffrey declared Lenore would marry the Hound. The disgusting smiles she gave when Ser Meryn or Ilyn Payne beat Lenore. The threats about murdering Lisha as soon as Lenore didn’t act right.  
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Cersei sobbed.  
“I don’t care. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here and now,” Lenore said. Cersei broke down crying again.  
“Please,” she whimpered and held her slightly rounded belly. “I’m pregnant. I know you don’t care about me, but if you kill me, you kill my baby… please… I don’t want my baby to die,” she begged. Lenore’s hand was shaking as she looked down. Her other hand instinctively wanted to touch her own stomach. Could she kill a baby in its mother’s belly? Was she cold enough to butcher a pregnant woman pleading for her baby’s life?  
“Leave the city,” she said. “Leave the country. If I ever hear of you attempting to climb to power-”  
“I won’t, I swear it!” Cersei sobbed.  
“If you _ever _try to rise to power again, _anywhere _in the world… I will hunt you down and kill you, do you understand?” she asked. Cersei nodded desperately.  
“Yes, yes, I understand! Thank you, Lenore,” she cried, and Lenore pushed past her, tucking her sword back in the sheath as she left Cersei in the dungeon with the dragon skulls and she took her name off her list.  
Lenore and Sandor made their way through the castle, avoiding the falling bricks, and then they were outside again. The air was covered in dust and ash as they ran through  
it. Lenore ran faster since she wasn’t limping, and she made her way over a pile of rubble and in under another roof, where she saw a bunch of people cowering, and-  
“Arya!” she exclaimed as she saw the girl, bloody and white, covered in dust and ash. She looked like death, but she was still fighting. She looked up at Lenore and her expression turned to anger.  
“You still with her?” she snarled. Lenore shook her head violently. The cowering people seemed scared of her, her silver hair reminding them that she was a Targaryen as well, just like the one who was burning their home to the ground.  
“No! No. I tried to stop her, I tried to make her- no… I have to stop her, Arya,” Lenore mumbled, and Arya nodded. Sandor caught up, and Arya gasped in shock.  
“You survived!” she exclaimed. Sandor nodded.  
“Thanks to her,” he said pointing at Lenore. Arya took a deep breath, then turned to the cowering people. She walked up to a young mother and her child, hunched down and spoke to them calmly.  
“You can’t stay here, you have to keep moving,” she said.  
“We can’t go up there!” another woman argued.  
“You have to,” Arya insisted.  
“Everyone out there is dead!”  
“If you stay here you’ll die!” Arya raised her voice.  
“You have to get them out of the city, can you do that?” Lenore cut in. Arya looked at her, thought about her options, then nodded.  
“Follow me!” she commanded the people, helped them up and then they were off. Sandor and Lenore walked out again, onto the battlefield that was King’s Landing. Dothraki riders were charging through the streets. Lenore reached down and yanked two arrows out of a body on the ground, then got her bow out again and aimed for the Dothraki charging after Arya. She fired off the arrow and hit the rider in the neck, and he fell off his horse.  
“Come on, the other way,” she mumbled and put her bow back in place, grabbed Sandor’s hand and turned around. Drogon was coming down right above them, and they ran. His flame came down, heating up the ground, and they escaped it just narrowly as they rushed the opposite way. Lenore prayed that Arya was safely out of the way of his flame.  
As they got inside again, Lenore stopped. A man was standing some twenty feet away from them. He was tall and skinny, bald, with only one eye, and he looked grim as ever. Ilyn Payne. Lenore was filled with an unstilled rage as she watched him begin to come towards her. Her hands went to her swords, but she only pulled out one of them, the dragon one. Ilyn Payne drew his sword and continued walking towards them, but he didn’t get long before Lenore lunged and threw her sword forwards.  
Payne didn’t have time to react before Lenore’s sword hit him and anchored itself in his gut. Blood gushed from his mouth and he fell to his knees. He tried to speak, but gurgling sloppy noises were all that came out.  
“That’s what happens to men who rape little girls,” Lenore snarled when she walked past him, yanking her sword out of him and leaving him to die on the floor. Sandor made an impressed noise before they kept walking, through the destroyed Red Keep until they reached the throne room.  
“What’s your plan?” Sandor asked when they stopped outside. Lenore wasn’t sure. She only knew she had to stop Daenerys, and only death would stop her. She still held Sandor’s hand as she turned to him.  
“Wait here,” she said and leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips. He nodded, and Lenore opened the door to the throne room. Even the throne room had been destroyed, with the roof blown to pieces, the lion sigil in the window above the throne shattered. But the throne was intact. The pointy throne made of barely two hundred swords still stood at the end of the room. Lenore hesitated, but she walked forward, her steps echoing through the room as she came closer and closer to the throne. She took the last few steps up the small stair. Then she sat down on the throne and waited, with her bow in her hand and the only arrow she had left.  
And on the throne, Lenore waited, for quite a long time. She figured Daenerys was done massacring the city when she heard the explosions stop, and she heard the screams die down. She felt empty inside. And sick. The sister and the queen she had served, and believed in, had really become the very thing she fought to destroy. Lenore looked up when she felt something small and cold on her skin. It was snowing, she realised. It was a strange sight, snowing inside the throne room. Snowing in King’s Landing, even, was rare.  
Lenore waited on the throne, even as she heard the familiar marching of the Unsullied getting in formation, and the screams of the cheering Dothraki were heard outside. At any moment, Daenerys would emerge and proclaim her victory. Lenore would not hear that speech, she decided, and remained lodged firmly in the ugly iron chair.  
Drogon’s screech was heard through the sky, and soon he whooshed over the Red Keep. It wasn’t long before Daenerys’ voice echoed through the air. She was addressing her _qoy Qoyi, _the blood of her blood. Lenore never learned Dothraki, so she didn’t hear her sister’s words. But soon she switched to Valyrian to address Grey Worm and the Unsullied. Lenore didn’t want to hear, but the dragon queen’s words echoed into the Red Keep. She named Grey Worm the commander of all her armies, she bragged about their achievements. She told them they had liberated the people of King’s Landing from the grip of a tyrant. But that wasn’t the worst.  
She then went on to proclaim that the war wasn’t over. They would now liberate all of the world. From Winterfell to Dorne, from Lannisport to Qarth, from the Summer Isles to the Jade Sea. The Dothraki cheered and screamed, the Unsullied speared the ground, and Drogon screeched. Lenore closed her eyes and prayed that it was all a dream. _The last war,_ Daenerys had called it. The taking of King’s Landing. But if she was allowed to live, it wouldn’t be the last war. Many more would come, and millions would die.  
Suddenly, all noise stopped. The Dothraki quieted, and the Unsullied stopped their spearing. Daenerys was leaving. It wouldn’t be long now before she came to take her throne. Lenore straightened up and readied herself.  
And soon enough she came. Daenerys entered the throne room, her black leather dress, her silver dragon chain, her majestic hair all standing out, but not half as much as the expression on her face. She barely seemed to register Lenore on the throne, it was as if she saw past her. Her eyes were wide and filled with wonder, and she looked nothing like the evil monster who had burned down the whole city. But Lenore raised her bow, holding the arrow tight and aimed at Daenerys. Only then did she come out of her trance.  
“It’s over, Laenerys,” she murmured as she began to walk forward.  
“Come any closer and this arrow goes through your heart,” Lenore threatened, voice already breaking from how close to tears she was. Daenerys shook her head and smiled softly.  
“You’ve already shot me. You won’t do it again.”  
“I will if you try to take this throne,” Lenore growled, and shen she swallowed a sob, looking up at the approaching Daenerys. “Go back to Meereen,” she begged. “You were good there. The people loved you. You were just, and kind, and… good.”  
“Meereen is not my destiny,” Daenerys argued. “The Iron Throne is.”  
“Look what you’ve done here!” Lenore shouted. “Are you blind to the sight of your own destruction!? You’re not worthy of the Iron Throne! You think you liberated this city from a tyrant, but really _you _are the tyrant!” Daenerys stopped and flinched. She wasn’t expecting that.  
“I freed the people from Cersei Lannister, how can you say that to me?”  
“You murdered the people! Murder isn’t liberation! Don’t you see what you’ve become!? Our father! You’ve become the mad queen, and I will die before I let you claim the throne,” Lenore snarled, unable to stop the words coming out of her mouth. Daenerys tightened her lips.  
“Our father was an evil man.”  
“And you’re an evil woman,” Lenore snapped. Daenerys shook her head again and looked completely lost.  
“You’re my sister,” she whispered.  
“I’m not. Not anymore,” Lenore spat.  
“That’s not how family works!”  
“I don’t care! I am nothing like you. I can’t justify butchering tens of thousands of people when the battle was already won. The city was yours. And you slaughtered them anyway. That’s _evil_. And what was that about liberating the rest of the world from tyrants? Winterfell? What tyrant lives in Winterfell? Sansa?” She shook her head. “You’re done. You’re done liberating, and you’re done conquering. Tell her, Jon,” she said, and Daenerys turned around suddenly. Jon Snow had come into the throne room, looking utterly unhappy.  
“Dany…” he began, sounding all measly. Lenore strained her bow again, hating herself for not just firing off the arrow already. Something was holding her back. She couldn’t shoot even though she wanted to.  
“This throne…” Daenerys said softly. “When I was a girl, my brother told me it was made with a thousand swords of Aegon’s fallen enemies… What do a thousand swords look like to a little girl who couldn’t count to twenty?” she asked. Lenore squeezed her eyes shut. “I imagined a mountain of swords too high to climb. So many fallen enemies you could only see the soles of Aegon’s feet,” Daenerys continued, smiling as she approached Jon.  
“I saw them executing Lannister prisoners in the street,” Jon said harshly, and Lenore opened her eyes again. She hoped Jon had come to his senses now that he saw what Daenerys had done. She stopped smiling. “They said they were acting on your orders.”  
“It was necessary,” Daenerys said, and Jon stared at her angrily.   
“Necessary!? Have you been down there?” he asked. “Have you seen!? Children! Little children burned!” he shouted, making Daenerys flinch.  
“I tried to make peace with Cersei. She used their innocence as a weapon against me. She thought it would cripple me,” she said.  
“And Tyrion?” Jon asked. Lenore knotted her eyebrows together tightly. Tyrion wouldn’t have stood for this. He was probably imprisoned or dead now.  
“He conspired behind my back with my enemies,” Daenerys said. “How have you treated people who have done the same to you? Even when it broke your heart.”  
“Forgive him,” Jon insisted. That meant Tyrion was alive, at least.  
“I can’t.”  
“You can. You can forgive all of them, make them see they made a mistake! Make them understand!” Jon was pleading with Daenerys, and Lenore frowned. She didn’t make a mistake. Daenerys could forgive her all she wanted, but Lenore would never forgive Daenerys. “Please, Dany,” Jon begged through tears.  
“We can’t hide behind small mercies,” Daenerys murmured softly. “The world we need won’t be built by men loyal to the world we have.”  
“The world we need is a world of mercy, it has to be!”  
“And it will be!” Daenerys insisted, closing the distance between them. With a hopeful smile on her face she kept speaking. “It’s not easy to see something that’s never been before. A good world,” she whispered, her hand on Jon’s chest.  
“How’d you know?” he asked quietly. “How do you know it’ll be good?”  
“Because I know what is good,” she said as if it was obvious. _Tyrant, _was the only word circling in Lenore’s head, and she tried again to make herself shoot the arrow, but she couldn’t. “And so do you.”  
“I don’t…” Jon whispered.  
“You do. You do, you’ve always known,” Daenerys insisted and clung onto Jon’s shoulder with her other hand. Jon glanced to Lenore briefly, who was still clutching her bow with tears in her eyes. He looked back to Daenerys.  
“What about everyone else? All the other people who think they know what’s good?”  
“They don’t get to choose,” Daenerys said. _Tyrant, tyrant, tyrant, shoot! _Lenore screamed at herself in her head over and over. Daenerys put Jon’s hand on her cheek. “Be with me,” she pleaded softly. “Build the new world with me. This is our reason. It has been since the beginning, since you were a little boy with a bastard’s name, and I was a little girl who couldn’t count to twenty. We do it together… We break the wheel, together,” she whispered.  
“You are my queen, now and always,” Jon said, and Lenore near shot him from the shock. Here he had been yelling at her and trying to make her see what she had done, and now… Now he kissed her. Lenore stared as the two leaned into each other and shared a passionate kiss, all until Jon’s hand disappeared in between them. A familiar sound of steel through flesh could be heard, and Lenore stood up and dropped the bow and arrow with a relieved gasp.  
Jon and Daenerys broke apart, and Daenerys, shocked, looked down and saw a dagger plunged into her own chest. She looked hurt, and betrayed, and Jon looked heartbroken, holding her as she fell. He still kneeled and held her as thin lines of blood dripped from Daenerys’ mouth and nose as she died. Jon looked horrified at his own action and sobbed as he laid Daenerys down on the snow covered floor. Lenore took a few steps down the stair and fell to her knees, crying.  
“I’m sorry,” Jon sobbed. “I had to do it…”  
“I know,” Lenore agreed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Doesn’t make it any easier…” she mumbled. It was still Dany, on that floor. She looked so innocent now. Jon shook his head, and then the dragon’s roar was heard through the sky. Drogon’s wings flapped over them, and soon he came creeping along the ruined wall, walking up and bringing his head close to Jon and Daenerys. Drogon watched as Jon got up, leaving Daenerys’ body on the floor. He realised he should be afraid, and he tried to size himself up as he stood in front of the enormous dragon, ready to be burnt to a crisp.  
Instead, Drogon leaned down, sniffing his mother, nudging her, as if trying to wake her up. Lenore felt like she was choking on her own tears as she heard Drogon whine and whimper when he realised Daenerys was dead. He leaned back up and snarled at Jon, who was ready to accept his punishment. Drogon reached his head up and screeched more terribly and high pitched than ever before. But then instead of burning Jon to a crisp, Drogon opened his mouth and turned to Lenore who stood right in front of the throne.  
“Drogon!” she warned, panicked, but the heat engulfed her a second later, Drogon’s snarling taking over the room as he rained fire in front of him. Lenore tried to shield herself by ducking and putting her arms out in front of her. The heat was insane but his first flame didn’t touch her, instead going rampant around her, barely missing her and Jon. He leaned back, took another breath, and his second flame seared right through her. She cried out as she felt her clothes melt off of her, and her swords succumb into glistening steel puddles on her sides. Soon, iron began to pour down on the floor around her, and she looked back, seeing the Iron Throne give and melt, gleaming iron splattering and melting all around her. Red and black burnt and melted iron poured down the stairs when another roar was heard from behind her.  
Rhaegal spread his wings, sizing himself up as much as he could towards his brother, who had just stopped breathing fire as he approached. Lenore shivered as she looked up, seeing the two dragons. Drogon in front of her, Rhaegal behind her. Jon watched in shock from her side, and Sandor had burst into the room, looking horrified at what was happening.  
Drogon snarled threateningly at his smaller brother, and Rhaegal screeched back terribly. For a moment, it looked as if Drogon would attack Rhaegal, but then he cowered, seeing his brother stand proud and tall and armoured. Instead, he reached down and plucked Daenerys up off the ground. He flapped his wings and they all watched as he flew over Rhaegal and away into the sky. Rhaegal reached forward and nudged Lenore gently with his head. That’s when she realised she was naked. And alive. Drogon had rained fire down on her, he had melted her clothes, her swords, and the Iron Throne itself, but she was unhurt, not a scrape on her.  
Breaking out of his shock, Sandor ran forward, unlacing his armour and taking off his jacket, wrapping it around the still shocked Lenore. Jon looked equally surprised at still being alive. The only proof of Daenerys’ death was the puddle of blood in the snow.  
“You have to take the crown,” Lenore mumbled, looking up at Jon. He stared at her questioningly.  
“Are you mad? I just killed the queen, and the Iron Throne is gone!” he countered.  
“We still need a ruler! You have to take the crown before anyone else comes here and realises what we’ve done!”  
“I don’t want the crown, Lenore! All I want is to go back North, go back home!” he argued.  
“If you don’t take the throne- crown- whatever… They’ll kill you! Her soldiers will kill you or imprison you, and there won’t be a home to speak of! You’re the rightful heir, take the damn throne, you can abdicate it later! This is the only way!” she shouted. The flaming iron mass that used to be the Iron Throne laid on the floor in front of them.  
“How?” Jon asked, resigned.  
“When they come, proclaim yourself king, by being the rightful heir-”  
“They won’t believe that!”  
“Then claim right of conquest! No one can question that,” Lenore insisted.  
“Why don’t you do it?” Jon asked. The words caught in Lenore’s mouth.  
“Wh-” she mumbled.  
“I’m the heir, but I abdicate it. Now you’re the rightful heir. You can claim as much right of conquest as I could.” Sandor nodded apprehensively as Jon spoke, but Lenore only stood wide eyed. “And they cant kill you, because… well…” Jon pointed to Rhaegal who still guarded his rider carefully. Lenore huffed desperately.  
“I don’t-” she began.  
“Want it? Me neither. But you have to. Or they will,” Jon said, as the Dothraki cheers were heard from outside the castle. Lenore looked towards the sound. “You have my Northmen to help, Lenore. Do it.”  
“He’s right,” Sandor muttered. Rhaegal flared his nostrils and bowed his head towards Sandor, nudging his shoulder with his nose. Uncomfortably, Sandor gave him a few pats.  
“Aye," Jon said. "And you’ll be king.”


	64. Great Council

Sandor was still limping. His leg never healed from the battle. Lenore had sewn him a beautiful eyepatch with a new sigil. After the battle, they had both cast their house sigils aside and made their own together. It was a grey matted dog’s body with a dragon’s eyes, wings and tail. Sandor was the last survivor of house Clegane, and so he took it upon himself to design the new sigil for the future of his house. The sigil he would pass down to his child. The Clegane dog still needed to be incorporated, and despite Lenore denouncing her Targaryen side, she was still a spitfire, and she still loved dragons. The wings on the sigil were green for Rhaegal.  
Lenore and Sandor had both helped in the rebuilding of King’s Landing. Lenore had taken the crown, despite heavy protests from the Unsullied. The Dothraki had, to Lenore’s surprise, bowed to her as soon as they heard she had overpowered Daenerys. Dothraki follow only the strong, she had remembered. She also had the support of the Starks, and the support of Tyrion Lannister, whom she had immediately freed as her first act as queen. Her second act as queen had been to call together a Great Council of lords and ladies throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Arya, Sansa and Bran arrived from the North, and Jon was already there, having stayed after the war. Gendry came from Storm’s End. Samwell Tarly from the North. Edmure Tully from the Riverlands. Yara Greyjoy from the Iron Islands, and the new prince of Dorne. Ser Davos was there as well, and Brienne of Tarth, and a few more lords whom Lenore didn’t know the names of. She and Sandor sat in the middle. They all gathered in the dragon pit, and Tyrion led the meeting. Lenore and Sandor would co-rule, with Lenore doing most of it, they had decided.   
“My lords, my ladies,” Tyrion spoke. “We gather today to enter this… exciting new era together. We have just recovered from two terrible wars. One against the dead, and one that began as an honest quest to a better world, but ended in horrid tyranny,” he spoke, and Lenore swallowed hard as she thought of her sister’s fate. There short silence before Yara Greyjoy spoke up, looking disgusted.  
“Some of you may be quick to forgive. The Ironborn are not. I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen,” she said harshly.  
“You swore to follow a tyrant!” Sansa cut in.  
“She freed us from a tyrant! Cersei is gone because of her and Jon Snow put a knife in her heart as Lenore only watched!” Yara argued, and now Lenore joined in.  
“I swore to follow her as well. And I did, until she burned down the city she was supposed to protect and govern. Jon did the only right thing, no matter how bad it hurt. I would have have done it first, I had my arrow aimed at her, Jon only did it because I wasn’t man enough,” she muttered, squeezing Sandor’s hand as she spoke. Yara looked angered.  
“He committed regicide. Let the Unsullied give him what he deserves.”   
“Say another word about killing my brother, and I’ll cut your throat,” Arya spoke calmly, a daring eyebrow raised at Yara, who looked petulant but leaned back in her chair.  
“Friends please!” Ser Davos intervened and stood up. “We’ve been cutting each other’s throats long enough. Torgho Nudho... “ he said and turned to Grey Worm. “Without you and your men, we would have lost the war against the dead. This country owes you a debt that can never be repaid.. But let us try,” Davos said, then nodded to Lenore.  
“There’s land in the Reach,” She began. “Good land. The people that used to live there are gone. Make it your own, start a new house, with the Unsullied as your bannermen. We do not wish to go to war with you, we’ve had enough war.”  
“We do not recognise your authority. You betrayed our queen. We do not need payment, we need justice!” Grey Worm sneered. “Jon Snow cannot go free! You cannot go free!”  
“Jon was the rightful king,” Lenore said calmly.  
“He was,” Tyrion mumbled. “And his freedom is not for you to decide,” he said to Grey Worm.  
“You should not speak!” Grey Worm shouted. “Everyone has heard enough words from you!” Tyrion nodded and looked pained, but he kept speaking.  
“You’re right,” he said. “And no one’s any better for it. But it’s not for you to decide. Jon Snow has already been punished, he is not the king.”   
“Turning down a crown he did not want is not punishment!” Grey Worm argued.  
“The fate of Jon is for our king and queen to decide,” Tyrion said.  
“And we’ve already decided,” Sandor said harshly. “Jon Snow is a free man. He will never rule any land or people, but he’s free.” Grey Worm spat on the ground. At his display of disgust, Rhaegal, who was perched on the grandstand, let out a low rumbling growl. Grey Worm didn’t argue, and Tyrion could resume his speech.  
“Baratheon, Stark, Targaryen. They’re all just spokes on a wheel. First that one’s on top, then this one’s on top, and on and on it spins, crushing the people beneath it. Daenerys Targaryen had one dream. She wanted to break that wheel. She couldn’t. The Iron Throne corrupted her too. But Lenore never wavered. The Iron Throne is gone, but she still stands. Drogon the Dreadful melted the throne with his fire as Lenore stood before it, yet she lived. She is the dragon queen who survived when the throne didn’t, and today she’s breaking the wheel her sister failed to break.” At that statement, she stood up.  
“Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms. My ancestor Aegon the Conqueror used his dragon Balerion the Black Dread, to bring the Seven Kingdoms to its’ knees and into one rule. Today we choose a different path.” She looked at Sansa. “The proud and brave people of the North have been forced to kneel to Southern kings for too long. Choose your own king or queen, as of today you are an independent kingdom,” she said. Sansa smiled widely, stood up and took Lenore’s hand.  
“I don’t like to demand things of you, your Grace, but I would have, had you not given the North this freedom. I’m glad you did, as it’s the right choice. Tens of thousands of Northmen fell in the Great War defending all of Westeros. And those who survived have seen too much, fought too hard ever to kneel again. We will forever be grateful to you,” she said and encircled Lenore in a hug she gladly returned. With a warm smile, Sansa sat back down.  
“It isn’t just the North who will be enjoying their reinstated freedom. Daenerys promised the Iron Islands their independence, and you shall have it,” Lenore continued, nodding towards Yara, whose sour frown softened. She didn’t spoke, only nodded. “And from this day, Dorne is free as well. As is the Vale. The Riverlands too. Lord Edmure, you’re the heir of house Tully. I strongly believe you will do a better job as king of the Riverlands than Walder Frey ever did as lord.” Edmure straightened his back, assuming a proud posture. “I would grant the Stormlands their independence, but Lord Gendry has made it clear to me that that’s not what he wants. He will remain Lord, but since he will be adventuring with the brave lady Arya Stark, he wishes that the Stormlands remain ruled by the Crown.” Lenore finished her announcement and sat back down next to Sandor.   
“Very well,” Tyrion said and clapped his hands once. “That makes Sandor and Lenore Clegane, king and queen of the Crownlands, the Westerlands, the Stormlands and the Reach. All hail Sandor and Lenore, first of their names, the burnt and the unburnt, lord and lady of the Four Kingdoms, breakers of the Wheel, and Protectors of the Realm!”  
“All hail king Sandor and queen Lenore!” Unanimous cheers filled the arena as everyone rose from their seats, and Rhaegal roared proudly, flapping his wings.   
“Lord Tyrion,” Sandor said calmly, and Tyrion faced him. “You will be our Hand.” Lenore suppressed a laugh at Tyrion’s shocked face.  
“N-n-noo… your Grace, I don’t want it,” he said awkwardly.  
“And I don’t want to be king,” Sandor countered. Tyrion shook his head.  
“I don‘t deserve it,” Tyrion insisted. “I thought I was wise but I wasn’t. I thought I knew what was right but I didn’t. Choose Ser Davos, choose Lady Stark, choose anyone-”   
“I choose you,” Sandor said firmly.  
“You cannot!” Grey Worm spat.  
“Of course I can, I’m king,” Sandor argued simply.  
“This man is a criminal! He deserves justice!”  
“He just got it. He’s made many terrible mistakes. He’s going to spend the rest of his life fixing them.” Grey Worm shook his head.  
“It is not enough,” he demanded.  
“You don’t get to make demands!” Lenore chimed in.  
“You should not speak, you are the worst traitor of them all!” Grey Worm shouted.   
“Call my pregnant wife a traitor again and I’ll gut you like a fucking sheep, boy,” Sandor growled, forgetting the kingly manner he was supposed to carry now.  
“You cannot fight, you are a limping old dog with one eye,” Grey Worm argued.  
“Believe me, I can still put a sword up your cockless crotch,” Sandor snarled, and Lenore intervened.  
“Enough, both of you,” she said, and Sandor snarled under his breath as he put a protective arm around Lenore’s shoulders. “Grey Worm, you have a choice. Take your men and build a life in the Reach, or sail out of Westeros. Those are your options.” Grey Worm was visibly angered, but he realised there was nothing he could do, and so he decided he would take the Unsullied and sail to Naath, Missandei’s home island. Sandor and Lenore then appointed the rest of their council before declaring the meeting over.  
“Think the little one will like royal life?” Sandor wondered as they walked towards the castle.  
“She’ll get used to it,” Lenore said with a smile.  
“She?” Sandor asked, and his whole face softened.  
“I can’t be sure, but my instinct says so.” Sandor seemed to hesitate, so Lenore put her hand over his comfortingly.  
“If you’re right… Can we name her Linnéa?” he asked quietly. His face told a story that Lenore didn’t know.  
“Linnéa…” she repeated. “Why?”   
“My sister,” Sandor said sheepishly. Lenore’s eyes widened.  
“I didn’t know you had a sister!” she whispered. Sandor shook his head.   
“I don’t. Gregor killed her,” he said. Lenore’s eyes turned sad and she brought her hands up to cup Sandor’s face.  
“I didn’t know. Of course we can name the baby after her,” she said and leaned up, placing a soft kiss on her husband’s lips. He wrapped his arms around her in an embrace and buried his face in her neck.  
“I love you so much… as long as we’re together it doesn’t matter where we go. I never imagined being king, but with you as my queen I have no complaints,” he said. Lenore smiled and hugged him tightly.  
“I love you too, my giant.”  
After that day, it was time for departure. The Unsullied didn’t say goodbye to anyone as they boarded their ship to Naath. The Starks said their farewell on the docks. Lenore saw them chuckling together. She and Sandor approached them on the jetty.  
“Congratulations on the baby. You’re naming her Arya, right?” Arya asked sassily when Lenore rubbed her belly. Sandor laughed out loud.   
“Not bloody likely!” he roared, and Lenore and Sansa chuckled. “Besides, you ought to call me ‘your Grace’ now!”  
“ _ Not bloody likely.  _ Old coot,” Arya sassed.  
“Wolf bitch,” Sandor retorted. “So you decided to travel the world.”   
“I’m going to find out what’s West of Westeros.”   
“Ha. You taking that bastard lord of a boyfriend with you?” he asked.   
“I am.”   
“Good. He's like a lost puppy without you!” Sandor said, making Arya chuckle.  
“So you’ll stay here and play king. Might see you again if I ever decide to return.”   
“Don’t.”   
“Fine.”  
“Oh you’re breaking my heart, the two of you!” Lenore scolded. Arya giggled and Sandor scoffed.  
“Glad you didn’t die,” Arya finally said to Sandor.  
“Back at ya,” he muttered and extended his hand. Arya took it and they held each other’s hands slightly too long to let anyone think they still resented each other, then they pulled apart. Lenore and Arya hugged and said goodbye as old friends.  
“Promise you’ll stay in touch. Send ravens telling me what you find,” Lenore urged. Arya nodded.   
“I promise,” she agreed, and then she boarded her boat. Just as Lenore turned to Sansa, a screech came from the sky. Rhaegal approached them rapidly and landed before them with a thud, apparently wanting to say goodbye as well. He actually leaned in towards Sansa, and she hesitantly stroked his cheek, grinning as he made noises of content. Lenore smiled proudly.  
“Lady Sansa, I wish you good fortune ruling Winterfell,” she said.  
“Your Grace, I haven’t even been chosen-”  
“You will be. You’ll be Queen in the North, and I will travel to Winterfell for your coronation. I can feel it in my bones,” Lenore insisted, making Sansa chuckle and blush.  
“You’re always a welcome guest wherever the Starks have a say. Thank you for everything,” she said. The two ladies shared a warm embrace, as Jon walked down to the docks. He gave Rhaegal a confident pat before turning his attention to Sandor.  
“Pity you have to be king. You would have liked it up North of the Wall,” he said as he shook Sandor’s hand.  
“Too fucking cold,” Sandor muttered, and Jon laughed.  
“Aye. You’ll do good, you two,” he said, rubbing Lenore’s arm. “I’ll see you again, I’m sure!”  
“Bloody hope not,” Lenore and Sandor said in union, and everyone laughed before the Starks boarded their ships and left.  
The weeks trickled by, and King’s Landing slowly began to heal. Lenore was right, in less than a fortnight she received a raven from Winterfell inviting the royal couple up there for the coronation of the new Queen in the North, lady Sansa Stark.  
Flying Rhaegal to Winterfell was fast and easy, taking Sandor and Lenore only two days. They were greeted with applause and warm welcomes as the green dragon landed in the snow covered court yard. They climbed off of him and walked in silence towards the Starks.  
“Queen Sansa,” Lenore greeted.  
“Queen Lenore,” Sansa greeted. The two ladies embraced, then Sandor kissed Sansa’s hand, and Jon kissed Lenore’s.  
"Nephew," Lenore greeted.  
"Aunt," Jon responded back. They both chuckled awkardly, still not quite comfortable being related. Jon stayed a few months in Winterfell. He would eventually depart past the Wall, but he promised to stay for Sansa’s coronation. The Northmen had all been eager to serve their first ever queen. Sansa had their full support, and soon, her day had come.  
Her hair was let out, and she was dressed in a magnificent Stark grey dress with Weirwood leaves embroidered on it, and fish scales on the sleeves, and an intricate piece of chest armour, as well as a one shoulder black cape. She walked gracefully as she took her throne, and sat poised as she received her crown. A band with two wolf heads meeting in the front. The crown was for Robb, the asymmetry of the cape for Arya, the tuftiness of it for Rickon, and the black of it for Jon. The weirwood leaves on the skirt of the dress were for Bran, the fish scales on the sleeves for her mother Catelyn. The grey colour of the dress was for her lord father Ned. And on her finger she wore a scaly ring with a dragon’s tooth, for Lenore. Lenore wore a Clegane yellow dress, with the Stark grey cloak that Sansa had made her. Her belly was big and round by now and made her weapons belt hang low, but she still carried her north made sword proudly.   
Sandor had been persuaded by his emotional pregnant wife to wear yellow as well, and so a black and yellow cape with the new Clegane sigil hung from his broad shoulders. He wasn’t a fighter anymore. He could still fight to defend his family, but he had decided during the Battle of King’s Landing that he was done being a warrior. He had laid down his sword, so to speak, and would only pick it up again if he really had to. As the crown was placed on Sansa’s head, the Northmen in the room, along with Sandor and Lenore, raised their swords.  
“The Queen in the North!” they shouted, lifting their swords above their head to Sansa’s honour. “Queen in the North! Queen in the North!” From outside on top of a wall, Rhaegal roared as well, apparently wanting to join the celebrations. Lenore had gotten her wish. She was a fair lady who lived in a castle with her gentle giant husband. And she had more than she could have ever wished for, with her best friend Sansa as an equal queen, a dragon as her faithful guard, and a little baby girl in her belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowza guys, I can't believe this is the last chapter! It's been an emotional journey!! But there IS an epilogue as well, so it's not QUITE over yet. Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed this fic! Much love to you all <3


	65. Epilogue: You are the Sun, I am the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years have passed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gt2SDbXoQ5g

“That’s a pretty song, daddy,” Linnéa said, waddling up next to Sandor.  
“Thank you, darling. I wrote it for your mother,” he responded with a smile and rubbed his four year old daughter’s back.  
“Why?” the silver haired, brown eyed girl questioned.  
“Because, we’ve been married for ten years today. Wanted to do something nice for her.”  
“Have you written more songs?” Linnéa asked curiously.  
“I’ve never written a damn song before,” he said. The little girl smacked Sandor’s arm as hard as she could, and he feigned hurt.  
“Why did you do that!” he accused.  
“Mummy says I should smack you when you curse!”   
“Mummy doesn’t need to know I cursed,” Sandor urged, grimacing at Linnéa.  
“I’ll know! Cursing is bad! You should be good.”  
“Alright little baby, I’ll be good. Come on and let’s go sing for mummy,” Sandor said, and picked his daughter up with one hand, setting her on his shoulder before walking into their chambers, where he found Lenore cuddled up on a canape, sewing a tiny yellow dress for Linnéa.  
She smiled widely when she saw her husband come in with their daughter on his shoulders. Lenore sat the dress down and struggled to get up, her round belly hindering her. Linnéa laughed.  
“Baby makes mummy clumsy!” she giggled as Sandor put her down on the floor. Linnéa immediately rushed up to sit beside Lenore, putting one of her little hands on her mother’s belly.  
“Yes, your baby brother makes me clumsy. Means he’s going to be a little adventurer when he comes out, just like you,” Lenore said and stroked her daughter’s hair. “Did you have a nice time with your father?” she asked.  
“Mhm!” Linnéa nodded. “We chopped wood, then we played with the wolf, then we rode Whaegal, then daddy said a bad word!” she went on, and Lenore gasped in mock-shock.  
“Daddy said a bad word? But daddy’s not allowed to say bad words! Did you do what I said?”   
“Yes mama I smacked him hard!” Linnéa said proudly, making both Sandor and Lenore grin.  
“And then… daddy… you tell mama what you did,” the little girl said more calmly and began chewing on the corner of her lip.  
“What I did?” Sandor asked, puzzled.  
“That cute thing you said we would do!” the girl urged, tugging at Lenore’s sleeve impatiently. Lenore looked eagerly at her husband.   
“A cute thing?” she asked and smiled innocently. Sandor’s cheeks sported the faintest bit of red. Even after all these years, sweet gestures were difficult to him.  
“Don’t make it harder than it is…” he mumbled and pulled out a lute from one of their cabinets. Lenore raised her eyebrows in surprise.  
“Since when do you play the lute?” she asked when Sandor adjusted the instrument in his hands.  
“Since I wanted to do something special for you. On this day ten years ago, Joffrey made you and I get married. Best mistake of his life. Best accident of mine. You’d think after being married to you for ten years, I’d have learned some more pretty words, but it’s still fucking difficult-”   
“Daddy!” Linnéa shrieked.  
“It’s still  _ very  _ difficult. But I put all the pretty words I knew together in a song for you,” Sandor said and got down on his knees. Lenore’s hand covered her mouth and her eyes radiated shock, love and adoration as she did her best to keep from squealing. “So just shut up and listen…” Sandor mumbled and began plucking at the strings, a nice, slow melody coming from the lute.

_ “You are the sun, I am the moon _

_ Chase you around like a bitter fool _

_ Sometimes I go dark _

_ Blocked by the world _

_ You shine so bright on the other side _

_ Giving light to the earth _

_ In the morning comes to soon _

_ 'Cause I am the moon _

_ You are so far _

_ The distance unkind _

_ But I'll keep on staring until I go blind _

_ In the morning comes to soon _

_ 'Cause I am the moon _

_ But every once in a while _

_ We lock in the sky like lovers _

_ Just for a moment I cover up _

_ And we're intertwined _

_ But I'll hold you tight _

_ Just for the time, then it's done _

_ Just for the time, we were one _

_ Kiss and we say goodbye _

_ You are the sun and I am the moon _

_ Chase you around like a bitter fool...” _

By the time Sandor finished, Lenore was in tears. Her hands were still covering her mouth. Linnéa clapped her hands enthusiastically. Sandor coughed awkwardly as he got up. As he set the lute down, Lenore extended her hands, and Sandor helped her off the canape. She instantly threw herself onto him, cupping his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. Linnéa laughed and clapped harder as Sandor wrapped his arms around Lenore and returned her kiss. Lenore pulled away and wiped the tear off her cheek, smiling fondly as her husband and father of her soon two children.  
“My moon, I love you so much,” she whispered, placing peck after peck on Sandor’s lips.  
“And I you, my sun. Forever.”   
“Forever,” Lenore agreed, and then with a pang of pain, water began to leak out of her. She looked up at Sandor in shock, and he looked just as unprepared, then a shrill voice came from the canape.  
“MY LITTLE BROTHER IS COMING!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW it's over! Thank you to every single reader of this story! It's the first long fic I've ever finished, so I'm satisfied! :D


End file.
